The Lost Women of Lost Lake (26 page)

Kenny signed the receipt.

Jane stood inside the door and watched him return to his car. Once he'd backed out of the parking space, she rushed out to Cordelia's Mercedes and hopped in. She made sure to stay far enough back so that Kenny wouldn't notice that he was being followed.

“What are we doing?” asked Cordelia, lazily spooning the last of her milkshake into her mouth.

“Following that black car.”

“I figured. And why would we do that?”

Jane explained what she'd learned inside the store.

“Let me get this straight. We're tailing Kenny and Emily because Kenny bought bug killer?”

“Pretty much.”

“You think he's going to use it to, oh I don't know … rob a convenience store?”

“I think he and Emily are mixed up in something illegal.” If she had to bet, she'd put her money on marijuana. Growing and selling. If they got lucky, Kenny would lead them straight to his personal greenhouse.

Approximately four miles outside Lost Lake, Kenny slowed and then turned left into a tight opening in the woods. All Jane could see was a dirt trail big enough to accommodate a car going one way. It clearly wasn't an actual road.

She kept on driving.

Making a U-turn half a mile on, she parked a hundred yards or so from the trail, the car hidden behind the branches of a low-hanging pine.

“You scratch the paint, you pay for a new paint job,” said Cordelia ominously.

“You're so fussy.”

“Probably doesn't help that our car is fire-engine red,” she continued, removing a fingernail file from the glove compartment.

Thankfully, thought Jane, the light was fading. “We'll wait here. Shouldn't be long.”

“At least this wasn't a high-speed chase. I'm not, strictly speaking, a fan of those.”

“Do you have a flashlight?”

“In the trunk.”

“Good woman.”

“Speaking of good, I can't believe our Emily would step out on poor Jonah. I guess the age of femmes fatales isn't over.”

Twenty minutes on, they were still waiting. Jane used the time to fill Cordelia in on what she'd learned from Kelli—about Wendell Hammond, the fire, and the DNA that was found under Feigenbaumer's fingernails.

“What are Emily and Kenny
doing
in there?” demanded Cordelia, filing her nails with growing impatience.

“Spraying bug killer, I would expect. They must have a serious infestation to do it at this time of night.”

“What if we've dabbled in this silly skulduggery only to find that he's growing corn? Or that he's planted an apple grove.”

Before Jane could answer, she saw the nose of Kenny's car poke out of the trees. His lights were off. Swinging out onto the highway, the lights came on. As he drove past, Jane was glad to see that he wasn't looking in their direction.

“Let's leave your car here and walk in.”

“Good thing I'm wearing my Adidas.”

Jane retrieved the flashlight from the trunk and led the way across the highway.

Cordelia swatted mosquitos away from her face as they trotted along. “I hope this isn't a wild-goose chase.”

“If it is, I'll buy you another milkshake.”

“You'll buy me milkshakes for the rest of my life,” she puffed. “What's it been? At least five miles?”

They'd barely gone more than a few hundred yards. Coming to a clearing, Jane pointed the flashlight at a wooden shed. “It's locked.” She walked over to examine the padlock.

“It smells funny around here,” said Cordelia, still swatting mosquitoes. “Let's go back.”

Around the rear of the shed Jane discovered four large plastic barrels of what she guessed was rainwater. Lifting the cover off one of them, she found that it was empty. Next to it was a pump action gallon sprayer. Following a dirt track into the brush, she came out into another clearing. There, with leaves sparkling wetly in the dying light, was a small field of marijuana plants.

Stumbling up behind her, Cordelia said, “Ah, the smoking gun.”

“Almost literally.”

“My kingdom for a match.”

“Cute.”

“I'd say Kenny and Emily are prime candidates for the rack and the rope.”

“They surely would not have wanted this discovered.”

“A motive for murder?” asked Cordelia.

“Might be. Was it
the
motive for Lyndie LaVasser and Steve Feigenbaumer's murders? Remains to be seen.”

“What kind of bugs did you say were infesting the garden?”

“Spider mites.”

Slapping her neck, Cordelia said, “Do they bite?”

“How should I know?”

“Can we leave now?”

“Yes, Cordelia,” said Jane, feeling that the investigation was about to crank into high gear. “Now we can go.”

*   *   *

Jonah parked the motard in the woods behind the cottage. Once inside, he took the sign down from the door of his room. He'd placed a piece of tape at the top of door so that he'd know if anyone had been inside. The tape was just the way he'd left it. So far so good.

Trudging up the stairs to the first floor, Jonah found Tessa in the kitchen making herself a sandwich. “How's it going?” he asked, sitting down on a stool in front of the island.

“It's going,” she said noncommittally. “How about you? You feeling any better?”

“Yeah. It might not be the same thing Jane had.”

“You want a roast beef and cheddar sandwich?” she asked. “It would just take me a second to make you one.”

“Nah.”

“You
must
be sick.”

He laughed. “Listen, can I ask you something without you getting mad?”

She seemed hurt by the comment. “Do I do that?”

“Not usually, but, you know, since I've been back, I've been slightly annoying.”

“True.”

“Except, I've been good yesterday and today. You said the dungeon doors wouldn't open until tomorrow.”

“Such a lovely image of our little homestead.”

“You know what I mean. I was thinking that you might open them tonight instead of tomorrow morning. I haven't seen Emily in forever.”

Tessa cut her sandwich in half. “I'm sure it feels that way to someone your age.”

“Wouldn't you miss Jill if you hadn't seen her in days?”

She took a bite and chewed slowly, thinking it over. “I wouldn't implode. Then again, given the right circumstances, maybe I would.”

“You two are my role models.”

“It's not necessary to lay it on that thick.”

“No, it's true.” And it was. If his aunts ever broke up, it would feel like the sun falling from the sky. Unlike his parents, who were no good at the relationship thing, Tessa and Jill gave Jonah hope that he could be happy someday, too.

Taking another bite of her sandwich, Tessa leaned on the counter. “So you want to see your girlfriend tonight. I loathe being a jailer. So does Jill.”

“Does that mean I can go?”

Drumming her fingers on the counter, she said, “Oh, hell. Sure. Take off. As long as you promise to be home by eleven.”

“Word of honor.”

“I'm holding you to that, mister,” she said, limping out of the kitchen with her plate.

*   *   *

Jill called from the lodge a while later. “Everything okay?”

It was the exact wrong question. “Great,” said Tessa.

“I'm going to be a little late.”

“No problem.”

For the last hour, Tessa had been thinking about making her way out to the shore to sit in the sand and let the waves lap against her one good ankle. It was such a peaceful evening. If only she could draw some of that peace inside her. And yet, with Feigenbaumer's murder shining a light on everyone around him, the authorities would need to be totally incompetent not to figure out who she was. It was only a matter of time before the sheriff, the FBI, or a US Marshal came knocking at her door.

“Just so you know,” said Tessa, “I told Jonah he could go see Emily.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“I figured there was no point in torturing the lad. Young love and all that.”

“Don't go to bed before I get there.”

“Why? Hey, you want me to dig out our Victoria's Secret duds?”

“If we had any, it would be okay by me.”

“Maybe we should get ourselves a catalogue.”

“I think not. But I'm not kidding. I'm sick of all this tension between us.”

“You're saying we need to spend some
quality
time together?”

“Don't make jokes.”

“Honey, I'm not.” Tessa's voice turned tender. “I'll see you when you get here.”

The only thing that sounded good to Tessa right about now was a glass of wine. She crossed into the kitchen, but stopped when she heard a noise come from the basement. Moving cautiously to the top of the stairs, she called down, “Jonah, is that you?”

The question was met with silence.

She called again, “Jonah? Are you back?”

This time, the sound was more subtle. A kind of scraping. Faint, but unmistakable.

She backed away from the stairs.

Flipping off the overhead light and plunging the room into darkness, she grabbed a flashlight from the island and clicked it on. Shining it down the stairs, she could see now that the door to Jonah's room was open.

“Who's there?” she called, surprised by the trembling in her voice.

The silence was oppressive. Seconds ticked by. Where was her shotgun? If she couldn't find it, she was sure there was a baseball bat in the coat closet. All of a sudden, she heard a crash, a door creak, and a screech as something zipped past her in the darkness. With her heart lodged halfway up her throat, she ducked down behind the island. It took a few more seconds before she screwed up enough courage to turn the flashlight back on. Washing the beam over the living room, she discovered two glowing eyes staring back at her from under one of the end tables.

“What the—” she said, switching the overhead light back on.

A gray-and-white cat sat crouched under the table looking more terrified than she was.

“You nearly gave me a coronary,” she said, dropping down on one of the dining room chairs. “Where the hell did you come from?”

*   *   *

On the way to Emily's house, Jonah bought himself a cheeseburger from the Burger Shack. He needed to do some serious thinking and eating helped. By the time he got to her house, he'd searched his soul and had made a decision.

Trotting up the front steps, he found Mrs. Jensen and Mr. Hammond sitting on the porch swing. He did a double take when he saw that they were holding hands.

“Sorry if I'm interrupting,” he said, clearing his throat to cover his embarrassment.

“No problem, son,” said Mr. Hammond.

“I assume you're looking for Emily,” said Mrs. Jensen.

“Um, yeah.”

“She's not here, but I expect her back soon. Wendell and I were just about to head over to Ivar's Pizza for a quick bite. If you want, you can wait inside.”

“Really? That would be awesome.”

Mr. Hammond stood as Mrs. Jensen opened the screen door for Jonah. “Help yourself to a pop. I think there's a new six-pack of Diet Pepsi in the fridge. Maybe a Dr Pepper or two.”

“Thanks,” said Jonah. He entered the house and stood for a moment in the living room. It was all so familiar—the furniture, the old-fashioned TV, the pink-and-purple afghan draped across the back of the couch. The house always smelled of cinnamon—and something else he could never quite define. Maybe it was the years of wood fires in the fireplace. Or some kind of furniture polish. Whatever it was, it made him feel warm inside.

He ran his fingers along the lace-covered dining room table as he crossed into the kitchen. The light was on over the sink. Several clean glasses sat upside-down in the dish drainer. He wouldn't need one. He could just drink from the can. Popping the top, he pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down. He and Emily had spent many nights here, drinking pop and talking late into the night.

Hearing the front screen creak open and then slam shut, Jonah was instantly furious at the sound of Kenny's voice. Why did he have to be around all the time? All Jonah wanted was a few minutes alone with Emily.

“I'll run upstairs,” came Emily's voice. “God, but I'm scared.”

“Just do it,” said Kenny. “I'll be here when you come down.”

Jonah stepped into the kitchen doorway. “Hi,” he said, feeling awkward, like he didn't belong.

“Jonah,” said Emily, her eyes widening. “What are you doing here?”

“Jesus H. Christ,” bellowed Kenny. “Don't you ever give up?”

“What's going on over at Fisherman's Cove?”

Emily eyes widened even more.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said Kenny.

Moving toward Jonah, her hand out, Emily said, “Let me explain.”

“You think she's as pure as the driven snow?” said Kenny. “Think again.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” asked Jonah.

“Nothing,” said Emily.

“Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. I meant what I said the other night, Em. My love for you will never change, no matter what.”

“You are such a wuss,” muttered Kenny, sitting down on the footstool. “You make my brain hurt.”

“I wasn't aware you had a brain,” said Jonah. “Do you love me, Em?”

“I never meant to hurt you. I did it because I needed the money. I have to get out of this town before it smothers me.”

“Tell me what you did.”

“I helped him plant more marijuana last spring.”

“And she's helping me sell it,” said Kenny, chewing on a nail. “Over at Harris Lake.”

Jonah stared at him. “We had a deal. We'd only grow what we could use or what we wanted to give away.”