House of Skin (12 page)

Wondered what to do about the dead guy in her basement.

Not having slain a man before, she was unsure whether or not she’d done the right thing by leaving his body in the basement. Remembering her Poe, she considered how to get rid of the corpse. Walling him up was out of the question, as was chopping him into pieces and putting him under the floorboards.

The thought came again, for the hundredth time that day:
What’s wrong with you?
 

How, she wondered, could she think like this, examine the different methods of discarding a corpse? Her hands were shaking again. She put them under the desk so no one would see.

She sighed, wishing she’d never met Ted Brand. If she suffered through nightmares until she was eighty, so be it, but dammit, she wouldn’t give up her freedom or her life because of one mistake.

Barlow was smart. He’d be thorough, she knew. It was only a matter of time before he came to question her. She had to focus.

She could bury Brand’s body somewhere, but how to do that and make sure no one would find it? Weren’t there dogs trained to do just that? She imagined a German Shepherd sniffing through the forest, moving unerringly to wherever she’d tried to conceal the corpse.

Of course, there was history between her and Sam Barlow, and that could only help her.

Then again, maybe it wouldn’t.

The thought was enough to tighten the skin around her eyes, set her imagination racing. What if the things he might or might not know made him more suspicious? What if the past came back to bite her?
 

She was thinking this when Barlow appeared in front of her.

“Hey, Julia,” the sheriff said and leaned over the desk. “How’s life?”

Though she could feel her heart racing, his familiar manner lessened her anxiety a notch.

“Not bad, Mr. Barlow. Just going through the stragglers.” Good, she thought. Her voice had come out even.

“Am I one of them?” he asked, craning his head to look at her monitor. Though he didn’t have a chew in now, she could smell the Red Man on his breath. Like overripe apples. Normally the scent appealed to her, but now it made her feel closed in, like the walls were creeping nearer.

Prison walls.

She cleared her throat. “Well,” she said, scrolling through the list of names, “it doesn’t look like it. You’ve got four more days before your books are due back.”
 

Barlow smiled. “Good. I’m only done with half of them.”
 

“Extra busy lately?”

He paused. “Unfortunately, yes.” His face sobered.

“Really?” she said, sitting back from the keyboard. “Has something happened?”

The sheriff regarded his hat, which rested on the counter. As he did, Julia noted the gray hairs mixing in with the black, the age showing around Barlow’s tired eyes. Seeing these things, it wasn’t hard to forget he was in detective mode, was a regular guy and a good man, saddened by what he was doing, questioning her about a missing person.

Keep your guard up
, a voice cautioned.

“We don’t know what’s happened, Julia.” He glanced up at her, chin down. “Have you heard of a man named Ted Brand?”

She shook her head, forced her hands not to fidget. “No, that name’s not familiar.”

He watched her a moment longer. Then, he seemed to dismiss something and stared at his hat again. “You wouldn’t have, unless you have a police scanner you listen to.”

She waited, her heart sledgehammering in her chest.

He smiled at her. “But you’re not really the police scanner type.”

She allowed herself a sheepish grin. “I’m a bit out of touch.”

“Why is that?”

“I guess I’m just a homebody.”

His sigh said it was a shame she never married. She got that sigh a lot, from Bea mostly.

“What I’m wondering about,” he said, coming to it, “is whether you walked home from work Thursday night or caught a ride.”
 

“I always walk home from work.”

He grinned. “I know you do. I finally stopped offering you rides even though I hate to see you all alone on the shoulder.”

She shrugged. “I like walking.”

“So the other night, did you see a black BMW pass by, heading south?”

Not wanting to answer too fast, she paused, frowning at the wall beside her. “Not that I remember. It’s possible one went by, but if it did I don’t remember it.”

“Think hard now,” Barlow said. “Did a man maybe stop and offer you a ride?”

“No,” she said, “I would have remembered that.”

Barlow looked disappointed but unsurprised. “If you remember anything, will you call me?” He wrote down his number on a temporary library card.

She took it.

“That’s my cell phone,” he said. “I hate the damn thing, but everybody’s got one now and my secretary says I have to keep up with the times.”

“How is Patti?” Julia asked.

“She’s fine,” Barlow said, straightening. “I better get going.”

“I hope everything works out.”

The sheriff put his hat on. “Me too.”

And with that, he left.

Staring after him she let out a long, fluttery breath. She shut her eyes and pushed herself up in her chair. She’d done well, she knew. Barlow didn’t suspect her. She was just another neighbor, a formality to be gotten through. He no more suspected her of Brand’s murder than the Kennedy assassination.

All that was left now was the body.

Chapter Nine

July, 1950

After the murder of her child, the only restraint on Maria’s wantonness was removed. She bedded a new man each week, often on consecutive days. More than once in the same night.

Myles observed this with detached interest, caring little for his former girlfriend, caring less for the marriages she ruined, the homes she destroyed. Sleeping with men from all stations, politicians and policemen, idlers and drifters, she cut a lecherous swath through the fabric of the town and became anathema to any woman whose man had a wandering eye.

Then, she made her play for David Carver.

Myles knew nothing of the affair, save the lingering stares Maria leveled his brother’s way. He could never tell whether or not the interest was mutual, for David was difficult to read. Myles couldn’t imagine his brother wanting any woman but Annabel.

One sleepless night Myles arose from bed and went outside.

The night was warm and bright, the gardens redolent with jasmine and sage. Through the dewy lawn and into the hollow Myles went, a slight breeze worrying his thick black hair, caressing his bare chest.

He was upon the lovers before he noticed them.

In a bright patch of moonlit bluegrass, Maria sat astraddle his brother, back arched, hands behind her gripping David’s hard calves. Her upturned nipples shone like gems, her entire body rose and fell, a fleshy arch, as David thrust up into her from below.

Unaccountably, Myles felt a pang of jealousy. The satisfied, dreamy smile on her face infuriated him. For as active a lover as she was, she’d never shown much pleasure in having sex with Myles, treating it instead like a pleasant but forgettable diversion.

Maria moaned as his brother drilled up into her splayed legs, his large forearms rippling as he kneaded her hips, her breasts.

Shaking, Myles turned and strode away. All he could think of was Annabel home in bed, her husband in the woods banging the town slut. The thought of Annabel, her icy blue eyes lidded in sleep, the covers pulled down to reveal her pale skin, her sinuous body clad only in a satiny nightgown, lent speed to his steps. He rocketed through the hollow, bare feet padding the smooth earth. Myles hadn’t the strength of his brother, but what there was of him was hard and lean, and as the image of Annabel became clearer in his mind, his strides lengthened, his thin body become a white wraith darting around the trail’s bends in the moonlight.

When he entered the house he took care to keep the screen door from slamming. If Annabel awoke, he’d have to explain himself, and his opportunity to take her would be lost. When she found out what was happening she’d be eager to confront the pair. Though she feigned unconcern Myles knew deep down that beneath the aloof exterior lurked unfathomable darkness. He’d seen it on the night of the boy’s death, again when she heard of the second child slaying in Shadeland, less than a year later.

The sweat dripped from his hair, which hung in lank sheathes over his temples. He twisted the doorknob and let himself in. Though the night was preternaturally brilliant, the thick oak tree outside the bedroom window partially stifled the moonglow, leaving Myles illuminated and Annabel in shadow. The bedclothes were twisted and bunched around her still form.

He crossed the room, the shadows swallowing him. A starling lit on the sill and stared incuriously through the window. Myles reached out, grasped the bedclothes, drew them down and beheld the empty place where her body had been, where he’d watched her from the keyhole many a night, looking past the muscular mound of his brother and gazing upon the one thing life had denied him, the only thing he wanted.

But she was gone. His head swam with longing and rage as he returned to his room. Shutting the door he turned and saw Annabel lying on her side, nude, in his bed. Her back to him, her long blond hair tied up so that her creamy neck glowed, she lay there, waiting, on the white sheet. Myles stepped over the covers, which were pooled at the foot of the bed, and slipped off his boxer shorts. She bent forward, extending her buttocks, her elbow sliding down the sheet toward her knees. Lying on his side behind her, he slid down low enough to enter her, and as he felt her warmth slide around him, he heard her whisper one word, “Mine,” and knew it to be true.

Chapter Ten

When the phone rang, Sam hoped it would be good news. Then he heard Daryl Applegate say, “Howdy, Sheriff,” and his hopes were dashed.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, making no attempt to conceal his irritation. It was six in the morning. He’d planned on sleeping until seven.

“They’re searching Brand’s car.”

Sam switched the phone to his good ear, sat up. “Any prints?”

“We haven’t heard anything else, just that they’re going through the car,” Daryl said.

Sam scraped a hand over his whiskers.

“Hey, Sheriff?”
 

“Go ahead,” Sam said. He stood and walked across the lightless room to his closet. He guessed he’d dress without showering today, though doing so always made him feel dirty.

“What I was wondering,” Daryl said as Sam zipped up, buttoned his brown shirt, “is whether or not you wanted me to interview Brand’s girlfriends.”

Sam pulled on his socks. “Deputy McLaughlin will be in charge of that. Plus we only need to see if one of them heard from Brand around the time he disappeared.”

Daryl’s voice grew plaintive. “But Tommy gets to do everything. Why do I get stuck being your secretary when Patti’s not around?”

“We all have to man the desk sometimes,” Sam went on, by rote now. It was the same old crap. Applegate wanted none of the responsibility, all of the glory. Sam didn’t have the heart to tell the dumb bastard he wouldn’t have a job if it weren’t for his father pulling strings. Guy wasn’t qualified to scoop shit in a henhouse.

“But Tommy’s the youngest. He should have to pay his dues like the rest of us.”

Sam felt himself growing agitated, glared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Now he was up, he wanted to brush his teeth, get on with his day.

“Age has nothing to do with it,” he said. “And Deputy McLaughlin does just as much grunt work as you do.” He couldn’t stop from adding, “And he doesn’t bitch about it either.”

“I’m not bitching,” Daryl said, but his voice was sullen. “I just want out of the office.”

Squeezing paste on his vibrating toothbrush, Sam said, “Patti’s coming in at eight, when your shift ends. You can get out of the office then.”

By telling Bea she’d gotten a doctor to come to the farmhouse, Julia had bought herself a few days. If Barlow came to the library looking for her, it would look bad, but what else could she do? If he noticed how red her eyes were, how her nerves had degenerated over the past few days, and started asking questions, she might as well kill herself, save the state the trouble.

In the five days since she’d killed Brand and disposed of his body, she’d spent most of her time reading or playing piano. But neither of those things took her mind off of what she’d done, what could happen to her if she were found out. Barlow could roll down the lane at any moment, knock on her door.
Your boss says you’ve been home sick this week. How come? And what are those blisters there, the ones on your hands? You been digging holes?

The only thing she found to take her mind off it was to walk in the woods. After she got used to it, the rain didn’t bother her. With May right around the corner the air was warmer, the denseness of the forest helping to hold the heat in. Julia watched as a sparrow flitted into view, zigzagged through the boughs of a maple tree, then vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. The bird made her aware of the forest life around her, inchoate now but rapidly gaining fresh vitality. As if to confirm this idea a chipmunk darted out of an uprooted oak trunk and crossed the sodden trail mere inches from where she stood. The smell of the soil, fecund and redolent with budding vegetation, permeated her nostrils.