The Bone House (31 page)

    
Hello,
darling. In a taxi, thought of you, ha ha. When will I see you? We're overdue.
Love, T. P.S. Beautiful place you're in, but does anyone live there
?

    Tarla
always had a way of reading his mind. It was disorienting to imagine himself on
one corner of the planet, in this solitary place, and to picture his mother
across the ocean in the urban lights and noise of London. She was right. He
felt as if no one at all lived here. The loneliness was crushing, maybe because
the empty land reflected what he was feeling inside. He'd always assumed that
seclusion like this was what he wanted, but he had begun to realize that it
wasn't healthy. It spread like a virus. He missed his mother in London. He
missed Lala in Florida. He wasn't as much of an island as he'd always believed.

    'Hello,
Detective.'

    Cab
looked over his shoulder in surprise and saw someone who did live here. Someone
who claimed to thrive on the isolation that he wanted to escape.

    'Mrs
Bradley,' he said. He checked his watch. 'Shouldn't you be back home by now?'

    'I missed
the last ferry,' she told him. 'I have a friend with a rental cottage near
here. She lets me stay there.'

    'How
did you find me?'

    'I
saw you driving through town. Your Corvette is hard to miss. Everyone already
knows who you are.'

    'So
it seems.'

    'Welcome
to life in a small town.'

    'I
heard about your accident on the island,' Cab told her.

    'It
wasn't an accident.'

    'I
understand. I'm glad to see you're OK.'

    'I
hurt like hell. I'm staying in bed tomorrow.'

    'Good
for you. Are you hungry? Would you like half of a vegetarian sandwich?'

    'Do I
look like I eat girly food?' Hilary asked. 'You should come back when
Stillwater's opens for the season and get yourself the world's best
cheeseburger.'

    'I'll
take your word for it.'

    Hilary
Bradley sat down next to him on top of the bench. She stared at the horizon,
where the blue sky deepened into night. She took off her glasses and brushed a
wisp of her blond hair from her eyes, a simple gesture that Cab found oddly
erotic. He was uncomfortably aware that he found this woman attractive. He knew
what Mark Bradley saw in her. Strength. Determination. Depth.

    Even
so, her face was troubled. Something was bothering her.

    'Are
you all right?' he asked.

    She
gave him a look that said:
Why do you care?

    'I'm
fine,' she replied. 'Why do you ask?' 'I assume I would be about the last
person on earth you'd want to talk to,' he said.

    'Sometimes
when you live out here, you just find yourself wanting to talk to someone, no matter
who it is.'

    'You
have a gift for flattery.'

    She
realized what she'd said. 'Sorry.'

    'Don't
worry about it.'

    Hilary
looked as if she was grasping for something innocuous to say. He suspected that
was because she didn't want to say whatever was really in her head. 'What do
you use in your hair?' she asked.

    He
was amused, it's a molding gel. My mother sends it to me from London.'

    'I
like it.'

    'Thank
you.'

    'You're
not exactly a typical cop, are you?'

    'Not
exactly,' Cab acknowledged.

    'Speaking
of your mother,' Hilary said, 'I didn't realize at first who she was. It took
me a while to put together the name. I don't think I've ever seen any of her
movies. I go for chick flicks.'

    Cab
cocked an eyebrow. 'You?'

    'No,'
Hilary said, smiling. 'I already told you, I'm not the girly type.'

    He
was almost willing to believe she was flirting with him.

    'It's
an artificial life, isn't it?' she asked. 'Hollywood, I mean.'

    'Very.'

    'Is
that why you're not in it?'

    'Yes.'

    'You
don't like to talk about yourself, do you?'

    'No.'

    She
nodded. 'Me neither. I apologize for that crack I made on the island. About a
woman messing with you. It's none of my business.'

    He
wondered if she expected him to open up and admit the truth.
You were right
,
he would say.
Let me tell you about Vivian Frost.
Instead, he didn't say
anything at all. He felt it again, the old instinct to shut himself off from
women. He wondered, as he had with Lala, if it was worth trying to get past it.
If circumstances were different, Hilary Bradley was the kind of woman he would
have enjoyed getting to know. But circumstances weren't different. Not for her.
Not for him.

    'Do
you mind if I make a cop-like observation?' he asked her.

    'Go
ahead.'

    'You
don't strike me as a woman who misses a ferry.'

    She
looked uncomfortable. 'It happens all the time.'

    'If
you say so.'

    He
gave her a minute of silence. He knew she was tempted to get up and leave. Whatever
was bothering her, it made her feel vulnerable, and she was obviously a woman
who didn't enjoy that feeling.

    'I
didn't miss the ferry,' she admitted. 'I decided not to go home tonight.'

    'I
see.'

    Her
face was haunted, which only made it prettier. He disliked women who wanted you
to take care of them, and that wasn't Hilary Bradley at all. She looked as if
she could barely get the words out to admit what was in her head.

    'Be
honest with me,' she said. 'Do you really have a witness who saw Mark kissing
Glory Fischer on the beach?'

    Cab
understood. The foundation on which she'd built her life suddenly felt weak.
Normally, he wouldn't have said a thing about the evidence in the case, but he
found himself unable to say nothing. He hedged his words.

    'I
haven't talked to the witness myself,' he said. 'I'm going to do that tomorrow.
I can't tell you exactly what he saw or didn't see.'

    'It
was dark on the beach. It could still be a case of misidentification.'

    'I
can't say yes or no.'

    'Things
aren't always what they seem,' she said forcefully, and he thought she was
talking to herself as much as she was talking to him.

    'I
realize that. For what it's worth, Mrs Bradley, I hope your husband is
innocent. I'd like to think there are a few strong relationships left in this
world.'

    'I
thought you only believed in betrayal, Detective.' Her voice was cold again.

    'I
do, but I'd like to be wrong now and then.'

    Hilary
got off the bench and squared her shoulders. 'You're wrong now.'

    'Maybe
so.'

    'Here's
what I believe,' Hilary told him. 'Your witness didn't see what he thinks he
saw. Either it wasn't Mark, or he misinterpreted what was happening between
them.'

    'Forgive
me, Mrs Bradley, but if you really believe that, why did you miss your ferry?'

    'Fuck
you,' she snapped, surprising him with her venom. She spun on her heel, then
stopped in the middle of the clearing. 'I'm sorry. Mark would never kill
anyone. That's not the kind of man he is.'

    'He
may not be, but that doesn't mean anything.'

    'Would
you kill an innocent girl?' she asked. 'Could you ever do something like that?'

    I
already did.

    'An
innocent girl? Of course not.'

    'Then
why do you think Mark could?'

    She
didn't wait for an answer, and he wasn't going to give her one. She retreated
to her car and drove away toward downtown Fish Creek with an angry roar of her
motor. He was alone again with the encroaching night and the violent water of
Green Bay below him. He didn't like it, no matter how beautiful it was. It felt
deadly. Catch-a- Cab Bolton was ready to be anywhere else but here.

    Gary
Jensen lived at a hilltop intersection where five roads came together at the
end of the developed area of the city. Across from his corner house, the land
gave way to grass fields and farmland. Amy pulled into Gary's driveway after
dark under the thick cover of giant oaks and sugar maples crowding the house.
She switched off the engine. The radio, which had been playing a moody song by
Adele called 'Hometown Glory', went silent on the final notes.

    She
sat in her car and texted Katie.
I'm here.

    Amy
got out of the car. Lights glowed on both stories of the brick house, but the
curtains were tightly drawn. Tree branches dangled close enough to scrape the
glass on most of the windows. She hiked along the grassy shoulder to the front
of the house. A street light threw her shadow down the hill behind her on the
road that led to the distant bay. Ahead of her, no more than half a mile away,
she heard the whine of car motors on Highway 57, speeding to and from downtown
Green Bay. She saw a patch of trees diagonally across from the house, marking
Wequiock Falls County Park. She'd hiked there to see the waterfall in each of
the seasons, not knowing that Gary lived within shouting distance of the trail.

    Her
phone jangled with music. Katie had texted back.
Don't do anything stupid.

    Amy
wondered if she already had, just by being here. She threaded through the maze
of fat tree trunks to the front door. When she rang the bell, Gary answered
immediately. He'd been waiting for her.

    'Amy,'
he said with a grin. 'Come on in.'

    The
house had a shut-in smell of dust and age, like an old person's house. It
smelled the way her grandmother's house always did. The wallpaper was ornate,
and it was worn down to the wall in places. The carpet was a dense, plush
chocolate brown. Gary led her into a square living room, where the overhead
light from an antique brass fixture was dimmed. She saw a piano pushed against
one wall, a paisley sofa, and a claw-foot armchair. The room looked out toward
the street, but the heavy drapes had been swept closed.

    'It's
ghastly, isn't it?' Gary said. 'I think the Addams Family lived here.'

    Amy
shrugged, it's just old-fashioned.'

    'It
belonged to an eighty-year-old woman. She lived alone. Probably one of those
lifelong virgins who had eighteen cats. The dust was incredible. We bought it
cheap because the family was anxious to unload it after she died. My wife
figured we'd tear everything out, but we never got the chance.'

    'I'm
sorry.'

    'Sometimes
I think about burning the whole house down,' Gary said, 'and starting over.'

    He
looked at her as if expecting a reaction. She gave him an uneasy smile. 'Guess
the insurance company wouldn't like that.'

    'I
guess" not.' He gestured at the sofa. 'Sit down, make yourself
comfortable. I'm really glad you came by.'

    Amy
sat on the edge of the sofa with her hands in her lap. She thought she looked like
a woman at a tea party, with a yardstick up the back of her dress.
Relax,
she told herself.

    Gary
sat down in the armchair and crossed his legs. He wore a burgundy button-down
shirt, black slacks, and dress shoes. The skin on his mostly bald scalp was
suntanned. On his left hand, she noticed the glint of silver where he still
wore a wedding ring. He never took his eyes off her. She crossed her arms over
her chest when she noticed his gaze drifting to her breasts. It made no
difference. She may as well have been stark naked.

    'You
did really well in Naples,' Gary told her. 'You bring a real athleticism to
your routines. It's a pleasure to watch you perform. I mean, let's face it,
there's a sensual quality to dance, and the best dancers know how to exploit
it.'