The Lost Women of Lost Lake (31 page)

By the look on Jane's face, Emily could tell she didn't believe him.

“You planted the gun in Wendell's locker,” said Jane.

“Don't … like pussies.” Kenny grinned, then grimaced, glancing up at Jonah.

“You need to rest,” said Emily.

“Nah,” he said. “Truth-telling … time. Now or never.”

“Don't say that,” she said. “You're catastrophizing.”

“Huh?” he grunted.

“What about Lyndie?” asked Jane.

With eyes half closed, he mumbled, “Might as well tell. Nothing to lose now.” He took a ragged breath. “Mr. Cop Man, he told Gran about the pot that I was selling. She threatened—” He turned on his side, doubled over, pressing a hand to his stomach. “—to … tell my dad. I told her not to mess with me. I never meant—” He stopped, took a couple more uneven breaths. “She called me last Monday night, told me to come to the store. I tried … you know … to reason with her, but she wouldn't listen. I got mad, grabbed her by the throat. All happened so fast. Kind of a blur, you know. She fell back against the counter. Hit her head. I was crying 'cause I couldn't get her to wake up.”

“Jane,” Emily pleaded, “can't you see he's in pain? He's not in his right mind.”

“Mind's okay,” rasped Kenny. “Rest of me's not so hot. Hold my hand again.”

When she took it, it felt cold and sweaty.

Five minutes went by. Then ten. In the distance, Emily heard the faint sound of sirens approaching from the east. A few of the onlookers began to cheer, while others clapped.

When Kenny turned his head to look, blood belched from his mouth.

Emily gasped.

“Em,” he said, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand. “Closer.”

She hunched down.

“Ain't gonna make it.”

“No—”

“Listen. That kid. You take good care of him. If he's part of you, he's the best part of me.”

“Kenny, you've gotta hold on.”

“Give him my name, okay. Kenneth. Don't let nobody call him Kenny.”

“I promise.”

“You're beautiful,” he said. “We had fun. No regrets.”

“Kenny—”

“No regrets,” he said, closing his eyes.

34

Wendell moved unsteadily across the deck on his way to the front door. He'd had a hard time holding it together all morning. His nerves were frayed wires. He peered in one of the windows and saw Jill inside, standing behind the kitchen counter. He waved. It was a timid gesture and he despised himself for it. As he waited for her to answer the door, drops of sweat dripped down his back under his shirt.

“Wendell, hi,” said Jill. “Come in.”

He thought she looked awful. Frail. Thin as a stick. She tried to act all nicey-nice, though it was obvious she wasn't happy to see him. Nothing new in that. “I've just got a second,” he said, stepping cautiously over the threshold, not wanting to get too far from the door. “Is Tessa home?”

“Afraid not.”

“Rats. I should have phoned.” His eyes darted furtively around the living room. “I've never been in here before. It's nice.”

“Thanks.”

Not very friendly. Tessa must have guessed who'd called her last night. Jill probably knew everything. “You see,” he began, wiping the sweat off his upper lip, “I suppose Tessa told you that I was the one who called her late last night.”

“You did? Why?”

“It was all a mistake,” he said, refusing to look her in the eye. “I didn't mean it. Can you tell her that?”

“Mean what?”

Was it possible she didn't know? “Here,” he said, shoving a manila folder at her. “Take it. It's all the information I found on Tessa—or Sabra, I guess her real name is—in Helen Merland's old papers.” He looked down. “I thought I'd use it to blackmail Tessa, but I couldn't go through with it. Not so much because of Tessa. I like her okay, although I don't really know her. It's more because of Helen. What would happen if the authorities found out she'd brought two fugitives to live in Lost Lake? I don't think she has many good years left. I can't stand the idea that she might have to spend them in jail.” He pressed the folder into her hands. “You've got to take this. I need you to tell Tessa that there's more. I didn't get it all. You should probably burn that. Promise me if the police come after Tessa, that she won't tell them about Helen.”

Jill opened the folder and looked inside.

“Do you promise? Because if you don't—”

“I promise,” said Jill, tucking the folder under her am.

“Word of honor?”

“My word of honor.”

“I better get back to the Merland house then. I told Helen I was stopping by, but that I'd be home in time to make her lunch.” As he turned to go, he saw Kelli Christopher marching up the deck steps. His body went rigid. He was about to push out through the screen when Kelli put her hand on the wood frame and stopped him.

“Not so fast,” she said. She motioned for a deputy to follow her up on the deck.

“I was just going,” said Wendell, wishing his smile wasn't quite so forced.

“We need to talk.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“I stopped by the Merland place. Helen told me. I'd like you to come down to the station.”

“Why?”

“Let's not make a big deal out of this, Wendell. Just come, okay?”

“No, I won't agree to that.” He stood his ground. It felt good.

“I suppose, if Jill doesn't mind, we could do it here?”

“Do what? Helen's waiting for her lunch.”

“She can wait a few minutes more,” said Kelli, forcing him backward into the living room. “Is this okay with you?” Kelli asked Jill.

She shrugged.

Wendell watched everyone sit down. Everyone except him. The door was like a magnet and he was a helpless iron filing.

“Sit,” said Kelli.

“Don't tell me what to do.” He wasn't sure why his comment should illicit a faint smile. “Tell me what you want.”

“We know you set the fire that destroyed your business.”

Wendell swayed sideways and nearly fell. He held on to the back of a chair for support. “That's ridiculous. A space heater caught fire in the second-floor apartment.”

“That may be. But we have evidence to prove that a fire was also set on the back porch. You ignited a plastic jug of gasoline by sticking one of your socks in it, using it as a wick.”

“What? No, no. I was miles away.”

“We found DNA on that sock, Wendell. It matches the DNA found under Steve Feigenbaumer's fingernails.”

“I didn't
do
it.”

“Then who did?”

He half dropped, half fell into a chair. “I should never have listened to him.”

“Listened to who?”

“He'll hurt me if I tell you.”

“I'll hurt you if you don't.”

The room started to spin. “This isn't me,” said Wendell, a pure panic taking hold of him. “I'm not like this.”

“If you hired someone to burn down your business, it is like you.”

“I don't know why I let him talk me into it.”

“Who?” demanded Kelli.

“Kenny Moon. Jim Moon's son.” He raked a shaky hand through his hair. “I was having a beer after work one night last spring. Got to talking about my financial problems with the bartender. You know how it is. You have a drink, you get a little loose. That's when he came over and sat down next to me. Said he had a solution to all my financial woes. We took our beers over to a table in the back. He told me he could torch my business, make it look like an accident. It would be simple. When I got the insurance payoff, I was supposed to give him five thousand dollars.” Wendell kept his head down, though he raised his eyes so he could watch Kelli. He could almost see the wheels turning inside her head.

“You're a real mensch, Wendell. Your wife would have been so proud.”

Her words all but pulverized him. He tried to swallow but something seemed to be stuck in his throat. Perhaps, he thought, it was his misplaced principles. “I didn't murder Steve Feigenbaumer. I have no idea how the gun got in my locker.”

“I might,” said Kelli. “We still need to get a sample of your DNA.”

“Fine. Gladly. Anything to prove my innocence.”

“Oh, you're hardly innocent, Wendell. But then, I doubt that comes as a news flash.”

35

Sunsets over Lost Lake were events in Tessa's life that she'd taken for granted. Fall, winter, spring, summer, they were a given, sometimes beautiful, often ordinary, occasionally breathtaking. As she stood on the cottage deck that night, watching the sun sink slowly in the western sky, she discovered in herself a new appreciation. The world could be an extraordinary place, when it wasn't approximating hell. And yet, how could a person understand the difference if they didn't exist side by side? Love and hate. Good and evil. Light and dark. She assumed humans were supposed to glean some important truth from the riddle of duality, and yet, somewhere along the line, she must have missed the point. She felt as ignorant about the meaning of the cosmos today as she had when she was a little girl, gazing up at the heavens from the field in front of her Nebraska home. Perhaps more so, in that she'd lived her whole life looking for answers.

A while later, as Tessa sat in her chair in the living room, she heard Jill's footsteps on the deck stairs. She smiled, seeing the dying rays of the sun reflect off Jill's face and turn it golden.

“I got your call. Why didn't you come to the park?”

“I couldn't leave. Not like that.”

The ferocity of their kisses, their embrace, propelled them backward toward the bedroom.

“I didn't think I'd ever see you again,” said Jill, holding Tessa's face in her hands. “You can't stay. An FBI agent came by this morning after you left. He said he'd be back.”

Suddenly, they were on the bed, too hungry for each other to talk. They'd never made love like this before, with such urgency, every touch heightened by a sense of impending loss.

When they finally pulled apart, out of breath, Jill said, “It's not safe for you here.”

“It's not safe for me anywhere.” Tessa closed her eyes, breathing in the sense of comfort Jill's presence brought. “This is the way it should be. The way I want it to be. Just a normal conversation. How was your day?”

“How can we have a normal conversation at a time like this?”

“Humor me.”

Laying her head against Tessa's arm, Jill said, “There are some things that happened today you don't know about. Kenny Moon's in the hospital in Grand Rapids. He was chasing Emily Jensen. I guess she decided to leave town this morning. He was on his motorcycle when he was hit by a car. Jonah's with Emily at the hospital. Cordelia and Jane are there, too. He's not expected to survive the night.”

“Such a shame,” said Tessa, feeling herself begin to drift.

“If he does pull through, Kelli Christopher plans to arrest him for the murder of his grandmother and Steve Feigenbaumer.”

“
He
did it?” The comment pulled her back.

Jill explained what she knew. “If only that FBI agent hadn't stopped by, it might have been safe for you to come home.”

“It will never be safe,” said Tessa, thinking of the letter she'd received from Feigenbaumer's daughter. There was no point in telling Jill about it. Fighting a yawn, Tessa held Jill closer.

“You're tired?” asked Jill.

“There's something I need to tell you. This won't be easy, for either of us.”

“What is it?” said Jill, searching Tessa's face.

“I can't run. It won't work. I found that out today, so in a way, it was time well spent. I don't have it in me to start a new life. Maybe it's my age, or maybe I've just come to the end of my rope.”

“So you're going to stay and let them arrest you?”

“The police reserve the worst region of hell for cop killers. And honestly, the idea of being locked away for the rest of my life, dying alone—I can't even go there.”

Jill held on tighter. “Okay, so there are no good options, but if you were in jail, at least I'd be able to write you, call you, come see you.”

“It's just another form of hell.”

“Why? Maybe, with the right lawyer, you could—”

“It's not going to happen.”

“There are mitigating circumstances.”

“I talked to a lawyer this afternoon in Grand Rapids. He walked me through what I'd be likely to face. I refuse to surrender to the legal system in this country with a false hope of leniency. Why would a judge even consider it? I didn't show Allen Feigenbaumer any.”

Jill began to shiver.

“Please, honey, I need you to help me. Can you be strong, just a little while longer?”

“I can't lose you.”

“I was lost the moment I planted that bomb.”

“So what's the answer? What do we do?”

“I talked to another man while I was in Grand Rapids this afternoon. Remember Erasmus? Not his real name, but the one he went by. I interviewed him several years ago when I was writing that one-act play about assisted suicide.”

Jill's body stiffened.

“I told him that I wanted to end my life. He gave me the new pills they're using in Europe, showed me how to use them, what to expect.”

“We have to talk about this.”

“I already took them. Hours ago.”

Jill sat upright, her face red with fury. “How could you do that without talking to me first?”

“Would you have said to go ahead with it?”

“No. Never.” She climbed out of bed and stormed out of the room.

“Where are you going?” called Tessa.

“To call the paramedics.”

Summoning all her strength, Tessa followed her into the kitchen.