Echoes (36 page)

"
Lydia? It's Sheriff Smith. You in there Lydia?"

Broken glass crunched beneath their shoes as they stepped inside the foyer. The drawn curtains here gave the house a cave-like atmosphere. The quiet made it feel like a tomb. More glass littered the floor than the shards from the broken window. Large chunks of porcelain and flecks of something else glinted in the sunlight pouring through the open door.

"What's that smell?" Hector asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

They rounded the corner to the kitchen braced for the worst, but what they saw was so chaotic that at first they couldn't tell if they'd found it. Opened cupboards lined two walls with their contents spilling out like something from a funhouse. A bag of flour had crashed to the counter and then the floor, spewing white dust everywhere. Fat, sluggish flies buzzed in and out of a sticky batter in a large blue mixing bowl. On a tiny round table, a half-eaten pie with a fork in the middle oozed gooey apple stuff, as if the pie pan had been tossed from across the room and landed with a plop on the table.

"We should get someone in here," Hector said.

Smith made a sound of disgust. "Like the health inspector?"

Alarm bells were ringing in Hector's head as he followed Smith through the disaster zone and into the parlor. Every one of his instincts protested as Smith went around the room, touching things at random, making no effort to preserve the scene.

"Looks like there's been a struggle in the kitchen," Hector said.

"With the cleaning lady, maybe. Looks like she lost."

In the nook where
Lydia set out her coffee and pastries, this morning's offerings still waited to be cleared. One coffee pot had simmered down to a blackened crust at the bottom of the carafe. Smith switched off the burner beneath it. Broken cups had been smashed on the floor, the same as at the front door.

Lydia
's private rooms waited in the back of the first floor. The bed was made, the bedroom tidy. In the bathroom the towels all hung at perfect angles, cosmetic bottles made a precise line on the sink and her toothpaste and brush were neatly placed in the holder.

"If she went somewhere, she forgot her toothbrush," Hector said.

Smith made a noncommittal sound and gave him a look of indulgence that was insulting. He acted as if Hector were playing cops and robbers, not assessing a potential crime scene.

They moved upstairs, looking at the empty rooms. Up here, everything was in order. In one of the rooms the beds had been turned down and mints set on the pillows.

"She was expecting someone," Hector said.

"Looks that way."

"That doesn't seem weird to you?"

"This is a bed and breakfast. She's supposed to have guests."

"Then why isn't she here?"

"Maybe she ate herself into a coma."

"That's bullshit," Hector said. "This isn't rocket science, Sheriff."

"It's not a crime scene either."

Angry, Hector followed Smith back to the kitchen. The place had a sweet, faintly rotten smell. Not surprising with all the half-eaten food sitting out. He stepped inside the walk-in pantry at the far corner, looking for what he didn't know. All he found was shelf after shelf of canned, bagged, dried foods and against one side a large freezer chest big enough to keep a side of beef frozen solid. The busiest of restaurants would consider itself well stocked with a pantry like that.

"Maybe she took a walk," Smith was saying.

Hector glared at him, stepping out of the pantry and scanning the room. To his right was a black-surfaced walk-in refrigerator. In front of it were footprints in the spilled flour. Had he and Smith made them or— Before he could speak up, Smith tromped through them.

"Maybe she rolled down the hill and can't get up," Smith said, laughing.

Hector glared from the destroyed prints to Smith to the oversized refrigerator and then suddenly a wave of horror washed over him.

"Shit," he said, striding forward.

"What?"

The smile vanished from Smith's face when Hector pulled the handle and the door swung open with a gust of chilled air. What he saw within made him stumble back with a gasp. He heard Smith rush up from behind, but he couldn't turn his head to look. He could only stare at what was inside.

"Jesus Christ," Smith said as he drew level. "God dammit to hell."

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Tess pulled into the parking lot and sat, waiting for the bell to go off. Raindrops plunked the windshield with occasional and varying regularity. In the distance, lightning snaked over the mountain peaks and low thunder rumbled. She couldn't tell if another big storm was brewing or if it was blowing away.

She still felt warm from the touch of Grant's hands on her skin, but it was chilly in the car. Chilly in her thoughts. She didn't know what was right anymore. A part of her, the rational part of her, urged her to take Caitlin and get the hell out of Mountain Bend. But on the heels of that, came too many arguments. What about Tori? What about the life she'd lived before? What about figuring out why it was all happening? What about Grant and the certainty that she would die if she couldn't be with him again?

A Lexus pulled into the space by hers, driver's side to driver's side. Craig rolled down his window. She did the same.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," he said, but his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Did you make all the arrangements you needed to for your father?"

He nodded. "You stayed at the church grounds for a while today."

His expression held a hint of accusation. She ignored it.

"The service will be tomorrow?"

"Yes. And then everyone in town will end up at my house. There's no avoiding it, but it's the last thing I want."

"Why will everyone go there? Surely if you said something..."

"My Dad was the kind of man who took care of people. They'll want to come by and tell me personally how he helped them."

That description didn't fit with the one Grant had given of a violent, abusive father. She wasn't surprised. It was just one more inconsistency in this house of mirrors.

"He sounds like he was a special man," she said.

"Special? Yeah, I guess he was. He was never too busy for a friend. He worked his land and then went to his neighbor's and helped them work theirs."

"But that was years ago."

"People don't forget." He wiped his eyes and looked away. "How is Caitlin?"

"She's okay. As well as can be expected."

"Have you decided what you'll do next?"

"I was just thinking about that. I don't know."

He shifted, so he could look deeply into her eyes, refusing to let her look away. "I can't stand you being in danger. It keeps me up at night, you know that?"

"I can take care of myself."

"But sometimes people aren't what they seem, Tess. I know I'm just a simple elementary school principal. There's nothing glamorous about what I do. There's nothing glamorous about me at all. But I'm a good man. I'm the kind that comes home after work. I'm the kind that pays my bills and helps my neighbor when he needs it."

"Like your father."

"I'm the kind of man you can depend on to be there," he said. "I know that's not exactly the stuff that sweeps a girl off her feet, but maybe it should be."

What he said went deeper than the words. He was speaking to her fears, and he knew their language.

"Things have never come easy to me, not like they have for Grant. Maybe that's why I appreciate a good thing when I see it much more than he'll ever be able to do."

"Is that what bothers you about him? Everything is easy for him?"

"Maybe. Maybe it's just jealousy and my thinking it's anything more is only my way of justifying it. But I hope not. I think the real problem isn't that it comes easy. It's that it goes the same way."

"What do you mean?"

"We've been trying to steal each other's thunder since we were in diapers. We fought over our mother's love, we fought over our father's love, we fought over girls. We fought over women."

Women. Plural. Tess couldn't help the sinking feeling that brought.

"Back in high school,
Lydia and I used to be an item. She was tiny and she was a beauty and I loved her. Every boy wanted to date her, but she chose me. Grant couldn't live with that."

"High school was a long time ago, Craig."

He shook his head. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm not holding a grudge over a lost girlfriend. It's not that. I can live with him wanting to take her away. Hell, I can even live with him succeeding. But once he had her, he used her and then he threw her away like trash. She was the American sweetheart and he destroyed her."

"That's a pretty heavy sentence, Craig. We all did stupid things when we were young."

"I know. But Grant never stopped. He still strings her along and she still thinks he loves her. The more I thought about what you said today—about Lydia being engaged, the more I wondered if it was Grant. Grant, still playing her."

Tess swallowed, feeling as if she couldn't catch her breath.

"Don't tell me you never heard about him and his ex-wife?" Craig continued.

Of course she had. Anyone who had a TV or newspaper had heard about it. He'd married a starlet who was as breathtaking as he. They'd been the shimmer on every party. The movie magazines had loved them. The paparazzi had caught them in every act imaginable. Still, they'd managed to escape censor until the spiral of alcoholism had become a corkscrew roller coaster. They began fighting in public, making scenes anywhere, anytime. And then the affairs began for both of them. Tess remembered how, for a solid week, even the legitimate news shows had talked of the flaunting affairs. But again, that was years ago.

"When he drove their car through their garage and out the back, he could have killed them both," Craig said. "If it had been you or me driving, we'd have done time. Grant walked away and the only casualty was his marriage. He didn't stop making movies. He didn't stop making money. He certainly didn't
start
sending any of that money home, even though Dad was barely keeping his head above water paying his mortgage."

"Grant said he did send money."

The look Craig gave her was filled with sympathy. "Grant says a lot of things."

She didn't know how to respond to that. How to express what she felt at that moment.

"I know he has your head spinning right now, but all that leaves you in the end is dizzy. I promise you, when the going gets tough, Grant won't be there for you. But Tess...I will. I'll be there. I just want you to know that."

Keeping her eyes on her white knuckled hands, she nodded.

The bell rang and Craig sighed. "If you need anything, I'm here," he said before rolling up his window and stepping out of his car. She watched him walk away in the spitting rain. A moment later the school's doors burst open to a flood of pony tails and backpacks. Taking a deep breath, Tess got out of the car and looked for her niece.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

She stepped through Tori's front door more exhausted than she could ever remember being. The scent of the sausage casserole she'd made for Grant this morning lingered in the air, mocking the optimism with which she'd made it. Caitlin dropped her backpack and headed upstairs to her room. Tess followed the slanted sunrays to the kitchen where she leaned against the counter and tried to get a grip.

The dishes she'd washed earlier sat in the strainer where she'd left them to dry. The cupboards were all closed, the counters wiped clean and shining, but a wad of white fluff perched at the edge of the sink. Frowning, she moved forward. More of the damp and matted stuff filled the sink and clung to the sides, but she had no idea what it was or how it got there. Wrinkling her nose, she picked up a clump of it and rubbed it between her fingers. It felt like the fiber that filled pillows and—

"Jesus Lord," she whispered.

Something with an orange and yellow pattern stuck up from the dark hole of the garbage disposal. Something that bore a peculiar resemblance to the ear of—

"Aunt Tess? Have you seen Purcy?" Caitlin called from upstairs.

No...
Tess reached into the sink and pulled on the soggy triangular shape. Up popped what was left of Purcy's head.

"Aunt Tess?"

Stifling a scream, Tess pushed it back down and turned to face Caitlin as the child stepped into the kitchen with a worried frown and said, "I always leave him on my bed, but he's not there."

"I haven't seen him," Tess managed, but the lie felt chalky on her tongue. She turned her back to the sink and Purcy's mangled remains.

"Maybe I left him in Mommy's room," Caitlin said. "I'll look some more."

Tess waited until her footsteps made it up the stairs before facing the sink again. The chewed up remains immobilized her with fear that went deeper than any she'd felt so far. This threat could not be misinterpreted. Whoever had made it played without rules.