False Impressions (29 page)

 

She got to Redneck Mike’s and stopped. She held the map in
front of her, trying to see where to go next. She was at the eastern end of the valley, close to where Interstate 81 crossed it, not far from the junction with I-80. The map pointed left, back toward town. It indicated that Paula’s place was the fourth house after the intersection where Redneck Mike’s stood.

She pulled into the parking lot of Redneck Mike’s. It was a long building with asphalt-shingle siding, its few windows lit up with neon beer signs. At this hour, it was closed, and there were no cars in the parking lot.

April took a breath. She’d steamed away from the barn, so sure that Violet had the answers. She felt her body go limp. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Someone had tried to kill her. Of that she was sure. The Campbells had been innocent bystanders. That explosion had been meant for her. She was supposed to be the only one home. The state police would investigate, but that would take weeks or months.

April traced her steps mentally. What had she done to become a candidate for killing? She’d visited the site of last year’s meth-lab explosion. What if that hadn’t been an accident after all? The chief had said it was impossible to tell the difference without a lot of investigation.

She’d gone to look at houses on Mary Lou’s foreclosure list. She’d found Tina.

Tina. April’s heart flopped in her chest like a hooked fish. She stretched for the gas pedal. What if she wasn’t the only one in danger? Tina had come to the Ice Festival yesterday, shown herself as someone who knew J.B. Worse, as someone who knew J.B.’s secrets. Anyone who had felt the need to shut up J.B.—and her—might have the same inclination to silence Tina.

She called Tina. No answer. She left a message but she had to warn her in person. Maybe that’s where the Torino was heading.

She put the key into the ignition and hesitated. The road conditions would be awful. She didn’t know this end of the valley very well. This is where she had been when she’d gotten lost and found J.B.’s car. The image of J.B.’s car, crashed in the ditch, flashed into her brain. She could easily be next.

April took in a deep breath, forcing air down into her lungs. She took off slowly and gradually increased speed. After a couple hundred yards, she gained a little confidence that the car was not going to fly out from under her and go skidding across the two lanes. She held on to the steering wheel tightly and crouched over it, looking more and more like a grandma behind the wheel.

There was no time to waste. She found her way back to Tina’s house. The sun was up, but the skies were gray with clouds and the house was dark.

She knocked hard on Tina’s door, ringing the doorbell with her other hand. It wasn’t sleeting up here, but gently snowing. The complex had the muffled quiet of a fresh snowfall combined with the normal hush of a Sunday morning. It was the perfect day to stay in bed. No one was stirring.

She heard nothing from inside Tina’s. She looked for a light at the neighbor’s but saw none. Tina was probably the kind of person to leave a spare key hidden somewhere close. April felt around the doorjamb and looked under the doormat. Nothing.

She saw no flowerpot or fake rock that could hold a key. She ran her hand around the “Welcome” sign. Nothing.

Frustrated, she pounded on the door again. If nothing else, maybe a neighbor would come out and see what the noise was about.

The door opened slowly. A blinking Tina stood in the crack. “Who is it? April?”

April rushed in. “You’re okay?” she said. April pushed the door open and went in.

“Bad night,” Tina said. “Sick.”

The house smelled stale, like unwashed body, sweat with an undertone of vomit. Tina’s pregnancy was not treating her well. But she was alive.

“I only just fell asleep an hour or so ago.”

Tina sat on the couch and pulled her blanket up around her middle. She was wearing a man’s flannel shirt over a voluminous brushed cotton nightgown. Her feet were covered with fuzzy sleeper socks with nonskid bottoms. She yawned.

April steadied herself on the back of the chair. “My house was burned down last night. I was so afraid for you.”

“Me? Why?” She picked at a hole in the blanket, unraveling the loose weave.

“This all started with J.B.”

Tina’s eyes were fluttering. She was falling back asleep. April couldn’t believe it. She was worried about Tina being in danger, but all Tina could do was sleep.

April felt her way to the armchair. It must have been goose down because she sank into it. She wanted to stay there, enveloped by the flowery fabric. Away from Aldenville. Away from the drama. This must have been the way J.B. had felt.

This was what J.B. was robbed of. Sanctuary.

Her mind clicked into overdrive. She had to find the person responsible.

She stood. Tina burrowed deeper into her nest of blankets, pillows and stuffed animals. She was too fragile to move.

“Will you be okay? I’ve got to go. Don’t answer the door.”

“Don’t worry,” Tina said, slurring her words. She was out.

A blanket slid to the floor. April stopped to pick it up and put it back over Tina. Under it was a man-size T-shirt. It was light blue with a large image on the front.

An anvil.

“Tina, Tina, wake up. What’s this?”

Tina opened one eye. She grabbed the shirt and tucked it under her chin. Her fingers worked the fabric, and she brought it close to her nose and inhaled.

It was J.B.’s. He’d been a member of Yost’s Anvil group. So had Violet and Paula. April had the connection she’d been searching for.

April ran to Mitch’s Jeep and headed back to Aldenville to find the pair.

She consulted the map once she’d passed Redneck Mike’s. She counted houses. Number one, a large two-story on several acres. Next to it was a century-old place, huddled close to the road. Probably it used to be surrounded by acres before the road went in.

A few hundred feet later was an old barn, a faded tobacco ad gracing its flank and daylight seeping through the missing boards. Was that number three? April wasn’t sure. The map said four houses from Redneck Mike’s.

She peered through the side window, murky in the cold. She recognized the next house. It was Kit’s. She slowed. Was this number three or number four? She’d come in from the opposite direction than the way she usually traveled to Kit’s. She’d never realized the kids were living so close to the bar.

April stopped across the street. She looked back and counted. The two-story, the farmhouse. Now she could see a ranch house tucked in behind a row of poplars.

Mrs. Wysocki said she’d brought the supplies here a few months back. The house had been empty then. In foreclosure.

Kit’s house was number four.

She tried to picture the list of foreclosures that Mary Lou had given her. Was this house on it? She realized she’d seen coffee filters and paper towels in the other empty house she’d looked at. And that interestingly colored paper she’d found at Kit’s had been of the same texture and weight as a coffee filter. One that had probably been used in the drug-making process, adding the different colors.

Someone was using Mary Lou’s foreclosed houses as meth labs. It was perfect when she thought of it. No one was keeping close tabs on the houses. They were empty, isolated. The meth makers could move around, get in and out without too much fear of being caught.

Mary Lou couldn’t have known. Did Logan? It was his job to keep track of the houses.

April remembered with horror the bags of garbage she’d seen in Kit’s basement. Dr. Wysocki’s article had talked about how much garbage meth makes.

April’s heart plummeted. If that was true, toxic chemicals from the crystal meth were imbedded in the carpet, the wallboard, the insulation. The cosmetic changes Logan and Kit had been making would not keep the danger from seeping into their lives. Indeed, their ministrations to the house might have released the danger.

Who was she dealing with? People with no conscience. She’d believed Violet when she’d said she wasn’t using. That she was trying to lead a better life.

April’s mind flooded with anger. She coughed and sputtered as bile rose in her throat. It burned on its way up. How dare these people? Not just destroy their own lives but innocents like Kit and her twins. What kind of a person did that?

April thought about the fire back at the barn. Kit’s house would be better off if it burned right now. Mary Lou had probably insured the place. Fire insurance would cover the cost of rebuilding. Nothing was going to help with meth cleanup.

April shuddered with revulsion as she realized how tainted the house was.

Kit’s car was in the driveway. She was in there, trying to fix up a house for her family.

Another car, an old station wagon, was parked on the shoulder just past Kit’s. She didn’t recognize the car. It looked as if it had slewed across the roadway and stopped there. The driver had been in a big hurry.

April grabbed Mitch’s keys out of the ignition.

If the killer had caught up with J.B. when he left Kit’s house, or if he knew that J.B. had had contact with her, then Kit was in danger. Whoever killed J.B. did it to keep him quiet. Keep him from talking about what he knew.

She had to have help. She considered dialing 9-1-1, but what would she say? She didn’t think the state police would be too interested in her story. A strange car was not enough to raise up the possibility of a real emergency. She’d tried calling on the Aldenville police before and Yost had embarrassed her in front of his support group. But she had a real problem this time. Chances were he was still at the barn and the chief would answer.

She dialed the Aldenville Police Station. No luck. It was Yost who answered the phone. There was no time to be picky. She needed backup.

“Officer Yost? I’m at Kit’s house. She’s in danger.”

She could hear him eating something. A noise like a slurp came over the wire and then a swallowing sound. Protect and serve indeed. Coffee-break time.

“Why do you think that?” The “little lady” was implied.

April lied. “I heard someone threaten her. The same person that shot her uncle. Just please meet me over there.” She stopped just short of pleading.

April swallowed her pride. It felt like a giant hairball going down her gullet sideways, scratching her all the way. “Please hurry.”

She hung up and tossed her phone on the seat. She hurried up the walk. The porch steps were icy, and April went down, cracking her knee against the concrete. She felt the impact all the way to her teeth. Using the wrought-iron railing as a crutch, she forced herself up and listened. Kit was in there with a stranger. Her breath formed icy clouds around her, and her toes started to ache.

She paced the porch. It shouldn’t take Yost more than a few minutes to get here. She’d wait. Waiting was not her strong suit.

A strangled noise came from inside. April stilled herself, straining to hear. Another sound like a yelp. She had to do something. April banged on the door, leaning on it for good measure.

The door swung open. April hesitated. This door had been locked every time she’d been out here. She forced herself to take a step inside.

“Kit?” she called.

“You’re lying,” she heard. “A big fat liar.”

April moved into the kitchen. Kit turned to her as she heard her enter. April’s heart was in her throat, but she was glad to see Kit was alive. Kit’s face was streaked and her eyes were red.

“Tell him, April. Tell him my house is not a meth house.”

Dr. Wysocki was standing in front of Kit. He was holding a gun.

“Dr. Wysocki?” April asked. She got a slight nod from the man. “What’s going on?”

“I came here to find my daughter. I’m taking her to rehab.” His hand shook. The gun seemed too heavy for him. His complexion was gray, and he looked older than his years. He should be enjoying his retirement. Instead, he was chasing down a daughter who could not shake her deadly addiction.

“What’s with the gun?” She wasn’t worried that he’d shoot Kit on purpose, but he was not in control of himself right now. He didn’t answer, looking at Kit with intensity.

Kit said, “He thought he was going to have to run the meth makers off. From my house,” she wailed.

April stepped in front of Dr. Wysocki. She kept Kit in her peripheral vision. The gun was pointed at the floor. So far.

“I’m afraid that part is true,” April said to Kit. “That’s why your uncle came when he did. He wanted to see the place for himself. He was going to warn you or your mother. I couldn’t figure out why he’d come back. It was too dangerous. He knew who was behind the meth making. He knew if he ever stepped foot in this town that he’d be killed. But he came anyway.”

Kit was crying hard now. “I got him killed,” she said.

“No you didn’t. It’s not your fault. Or his. It’s the people behind the drug making. That’s who’s to blame.”

Dr. Wysocki let out a groan. The gun came up to his eye level. His breathing was shallow. She wondered if she should call his wife or an ambulance.

April moved a step closer. “Could you have done that? Run off your own daughter with a gun?”

He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. “I will do anything to keep her away from that awful drug. She’s practically dead now.”

April’s throat closed up as she was reminded of all this man had lost. A beautiful daughter, a serene retirement, an old age free of anxiety.

He started to cry, his thin shoulders shaking with the effort of holding it all in. Kit went to him and put her arm around him. She looked at April with huge eyes, her own problems obviously roiling around her mind.

“Dr. Wysocki,” April said, gently starting to disengage his fingers from the gun. “Do you know where Violet is?”

He shook his head. His fingers retightened around the gun handle. They heard a car crunch on the snow in the drive. Kit’s head popped up quickly. April had to pull back her chin to avoid getting clocked.