The Lost Women of Lost Lake (9 page)

Jane decided to bring along a book.

“I assume you prepared breakfast for Tessa, et al. Was she in better humor this morning?”

“Hard to tell.” While Jane had been working in the kitchen, Tessa said she needed to make a grocery list. She sat on her throne in the living room with a pad and pen and stared at the blank page with a concentration too intense to be real. “Jill is taking her to see the doctor this afternoon.”

“Ah, yes. The air cast and walking boot. She say anything more about last night's Peeping Tom?”

“No, and I didn't bring it up. I probably should have.”

“Because?”

“I ran into him this morning on the beach.”

Cordelia sat bolt upright, the cucumber slices falling from her eyes. “You did? You're sure it was him?”

“How many people do you figure are walking around Lost Lake wearing a cap with the word
Sox
on the front?”

“Could be others. Did he recognize you?”

“Thankfully, no.” Jane briefly detailed what had happened with Helen, ending with the guy stalking off.

“So he's looking for someone.”

“A woman named Judy Clark. He said she was a cold-blooded killer. I couldn't really tell what she looked like from the photo. It was taken a long time ago.”

“Why did he think Helen would know anything about her?”

“Maybe because Helen's been living in town all her life. If this Judy moved here, she might remember a stranger coming to town with that name. He didn't get very far with his questioning because Helen's house guest showed up. Name's Wendell Hammond.”

“Hammond? I think there's a guy in the cast with that name. Small world.”

“Small town.”

Cordelia stretched out and placed the cucumber slices back on her eyes.

“I was thinking,” said Jane, not sure how Cordelia would take her next comment.

“Hmm?”

“What if Tessa is somehow connected to this Judy Clark?”

Cordelia sat up again, cucumber slices dropping to her lap. “How?”

“No idea.”

“Kind of a big leap in the dark.”

“Maybe. You have to admit that, while Tessa was physically present last night, most of the time she was a million miles away. And her reaction to that guy outside her window was beyond bizarre.”

Before Cordelia could respond, there was a knock on the door.

“You get that while I wash the mud off my face,” said Cordelia. “I charged the food to the room, so all you have to do is sign for it.” She breezed into the bathroom.

Jane held the door open for the waiter. He looked around for an empty spot to put the tray. “Just set it down on the couch,” said Jane.

Seeming grateful for the direction, he removed the metal cover from the plate, revealing an assortment of bagels, a crock of cream cheese, sliced red onions and tomatoes, and a generous portion of lox. Next to the plate was a carafe of coffee, several mugs and a glass of orange juice, and next to that was a tiny vase containing a fresh pink daisy. Jane signed the receipt and then held the door for him as he left.

“Ah, sustenance,” said Cordelia, rubbing her hands together as she emerged from the bathroom, her face looking excessively pink. “There's plenty for both of us.”

While Cordelia poured the coffee, Jane sat back down on the log chair. “I think we may have stumbled over something fairly nasty here.”

“Mustn't jump to conclusions, especially about an old and dear friend.”

As Cordelia piled a bagel slice with lox and cream cheese, Jane's cell phone rang. She slipped it out of her pocket and took a look at the caller ID. “It's Tessa.”

“Tell her I have a question,” said Cordelia.

“Hi,” said Jane. “Everything okay?”

“No,” came Tessa's angry voice. “Look, I don't like beating around the bush. We're friends, right? That means I can take the liberty of being blunt.”

When, thought Jane, was Tessa anything but?

“Back off. Stay out of my business.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm sure you've figured out that I'm dealing with a problem right now. It's
my
problem, Jane, not yours.”

It dawned on her that Jill must have called Tessa and dropped the name Feigenbaumer.

“You think you're God's gift to private investigation. Well, you're not. You're a dilettante. A dabbler. An amateur.”

“Whoa,” said Jane. “Let's dial this back a little.”

“Butt out. Do I make myself clear?”

“Admirably.”

“Good. I don't expect that we'll talk about this again. Enough said.”

More than enough, thought Jane as she closed up her phone.

“What about my question?” asked Cordelia, wiping her mouth on a napkin.

“I'd suggest you call her later, when she's had a chance to cool off.”

“Tessa? Hot under the collar? How unlike her.”

Jane wondered if she was growing paranoid, seeing intrigues and subterfuge where none existed. The comment about being an amateur stung—more than she cared to admit. “I need a vacation,” she muttered.

“Then I'd say you've come to the right place.”

Paranoia aside, Jane wasn't so sure.

10

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Jonah rehearsed his speech, the one asking Aunt Tessa if he could please borrow her Volvo. He figured she was kidding about the world not being safe now that he could drive, although she had a weird sense of humor so he couldn't be absolutely sure.

After Jane left, Tessa had stared out the front window, not saying a word. Normally, when he was around, she always started a conversation. She wanted to know what he was up to or she'd rattle on about what she was writing or reading. They would have long talks about politics, movies, philosophy, girls, sex, love. She was one of the few people in his life who treated him as an equal, not like some dumb kid. Jonah looked forward to those talks. Today, however, Tessa seemed distracted—so distracted that when he asked to use the car the question barely registered.

“We'll eat dinner around six, if you're interested. Otherwise, be back by midnight,” was all she'd said, waving him off.

He wanted to get a better look at that journal she'd written, wanted to see if it talked about her setting off a bomb somewhere, though he'd concluded that reading it was probably something better left until late at night when nobody was around. He didn't think his aunt would notice that it was gone. She maintained that she didn't have the mental focus to work, which he assumed meant that she wouldn't be using her study anytime soon. Before he left, he made sure that the table next to her was stocked with her favorites: a wedge of triple-cream brie and crackers, an assortment of olives, several cans of sparkling water, a pitcher of OJ, and a plate of Jill's homemade chocolate chip cookies.

Jonah's first order of business was to drive over to Emily's house and surprise her. Emily had mentioned in a recent text that she might be starting a new job cleaning cabins at one of the small fishing resorts over on Harris Lake. Sure enough, as he passed her house, Kenny's old rust heap of a car was nowhere to be found. Kenny and Emily had been friends in high school, had graduated together last spring. It irked Jonah to no end that Kenny had given her a far bigger gift than anything Jonah could ever have afforded. He'd sent her a book and a pair of earrings. How pathetic was that?

Thinking that he'd see Emily later, Jonah headed east out of town. The road meandered through woods and open fields. He loved it out here. In the fall, these same woods were full of hunters and the sound of rifles, but spring and summer were peaceful—except for the mosquitos. He'd brought along a spray can of bug repellant for that. Mosquitos didn't like smoke, and if the texts Kenny had been sending him were accurate, he intended to make some mighty smoke in the next few hours.

The paved road eventually ended and a dirt road began. Half a mile farther on, two muddy tire lanes in the weeds continued the trail, this time deep into the woods. Jonah stopped the car next to a huge dead oak, which was one of the markers they used. Making sure the windows were up and the doors were locked, Jonah set off toward the hideout.

As he made his way though the underbrush, mosquitos dive-bombed him from every direction. Near the lake, there was always a breeze to cool a person off, but here, with the sky grown overcast, the humidity rising, and the air still, his T-shirt was soaked with sweat. Bugs loved human sweat. He pulled the can of repellant out of the pocket of his cargo shorts and took a moment to spray himself down. He liked the smell. It made him think of summer, of good times swimming off the point, make-out sessions with Emily, beer, and smoking pot at the hideout.

Sure enough, as he came into the clearing, he saw a motorcycle parked next to the ancient shed. Instead of Kenny's used Honda Motard, which Jonah thought was one of the ugliest bikes ever made, he beheld a used Harley touring cycle, all black and menacing, with chrome as shiny as a mirror and heavy leather saddlebags emblazoned with the Harley-Davidson insignia. Jonah couldn't imagine where Kenny got the money to buy it.

“Hey, how's it goin',” called Jonah, seeing his friend's head poke out the door. More changes had taken place around the hideout. Some of the rotted wood had been replaced, as had part of the roof, and yet it still looked old and rundown. “You do that?” asked Jonah.

“Yup,” said Kenny with a grin.

They hugged, slapped each other on the back.

Kenny looked the same. Big and tough and musclebound. Reddish-brown mullet. T-shirt with the sleeves cut off to show his badass tattoos.

“Found some old barn wood to do the repair,” said Kenny. “Can't let the place fall apart, now can we. We also don't want to advertise that it's being used.” He glanced at a buzzing two-way radio clipped to his belt. “Just a sec.” He picked it up to read the text message.

“How come you've got one of those?”

“You know what cell phone reception is like up here. Even in town it's spotty. This is more reliable.” He turned it off and slipped it into his pocket.

“That's a cool bike. Your finances must be looking up.”

“You could say that.”

“You working somewhere?”

“Gran's emporium. Oh, and I'm doing carryout at the Piggly Wiggly a few afternoons a week.”

“Can't pay all that much.”

“Nah, but I got some other irons in the fire.” He gave a conspiratorial wink. “What the hell are you doing back here?”

“Hitchhiked from St. Louis.”

“No shit.” He sucked in a lungful of smoke from an overstuffed joint. Kenny prided himself on rolling them as fat as Cuban cigars. They had a ton of the stuff all to themselves. They'd made a pact early on. Everything they grew they kept. No selling allowed. They could give it away, if they felt so inclined, as long as neither of them became a dealer. Kenny passed him the joint.

Taking a hit, Jonah held the smoke in and said, “Nice.”

“This is some of the newer stuff.”

“How's this year's crop?”

“Mega awesome. The best yet.”

Jonah exhaled. “Let's go look.”

“Relax, man.”

They each took another hit.

“Sorry I wasn't around to help you plant,” said Jonah.

Kenny shrugged. “No sweat. I like grubbing around in the dirt. Just call me farmer Kenneth.”

“Kenneth?”

“Yeah. Sounds more adult than Kenny. I'm ready for some adult respect.”

They stood smoking, looking around, waving bugs away from their faces.

“Let's sit,” said Kenny.

“Yeah, good idea. This stuff is dynamite.”

They propped themselves against the side of the shed. Jonah plucked a blade of sweet grass and stuck it in his mouth, feeling for the first time like he was really home.

“How you been, man?” asked Kenny, his head lolling back against the rough wood.

“If you want the truth, not so hot. That's why I'm here. I plan to spend my senior year in Lost Lake, not St. Louis.”

“Good for you. You finally grew a pair. Me, I'm done with all that kid shit.”

Jonah took another toke, mainly so he wouldn't say something snarky. Kenny was a year ahead of him in school, which meant he'd graduated last spring. Actually, they were only eight months apart. Big freakin' deal. Sometimes, particularly when he was high, Kenny would cop this moronic attitude about the difference in their ages, as if eight months had any meaning at all.

“Still headed for the army?”

“Damn straight,” said Kenny.

“You talked to a recruiter?”

“Didn't I text you about that?”

“Nope.”

“Thought I did. Yeah, saw the recruiter right after school was out. He came to the house after I passed the ASVAB.”

“The what?”

“The Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery. I scored a forty-nine.”

“Is that good?”

“It's fucking genius, man. I'm interested in ground combat. Heavy artillery.”

“Blowing things up.”

“What else is there?” he said, cracking a smile.

“Aviation. Computer technology. Special ops.”

“The special ops might be okay. Ain't thought about that much.”

Kenny wasn't interested in books.
At all
. Reading bored him silly. He liked sports, liked motorcycles, liked smoking dope, and liked girls. Beyond that, he was somewhat limited in his natural curiosity. He and Jonah had been best friends since they were in sixth grade. Their parents thought the friendship was beyond strange, and yet Jonah had figured it out long ago.

Kenny wasn't into philosophizing the way Jonah was. He was actually downright pitiful when it came to anything other than superficial conversation. Jonah had plenty of people in his life that he could talk to. What he didn't have was someone he could do stuff with. It was a side of his personality that people sometimes missed. He liked adventure. Kenny was the same way. He didn't just dream about stuff or talk big, like all of Jonah's other friends, he
made
things happen. Together, the two of them were like a buzz saw. They were Tom and Huck lighting out for the territory.