Walleye Junction (18 page)

“Your aunt and uncle … The police came to the house.”

Kyle shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “I can't tell you how sorry I am.”

There was a strange fluttering in her chest. Breathing hurt. She almost sank down onto the sofa but decided it was best to stay standing.

“I don't know what to say to you.” She raised her voice. “I'm so angry.”

He tipped his head to the back door he'd only just entered. “Would you like to go get a coffee? We could talk.”

“What?”

“We don't have to talk about what happened. We can talk about old times instead. It will help you get your mind off everything.”

She almost laughed but started crying instead. “Kyle, that's kind of you, but I'm here for my mother. She needs me here.”

This time Kyle backed away. “Of course. I understand.” He shook his head. “God, I'm such an idiot.”

Emma didn't disagree.

“Where's your mother now?” he asked.

“There's a reception upstairs in one of the rooftop rooms. I couldn't … Anyway, I've been loitering out here.”

“You loiter well.”

“Pardon?”

“I said you loiter well.”

“I know what you said, I'm just trying to figure out what you meant by it.”

“Just that you look great. You're just as beautiful as you were back in high school.”

Emma stared at him. She was trying to decide if she was being overly sensitive or he was being completely inappropriate. She almost said
pardon?
again but stopped. She really needed to quit trying to please everyone. It wasn't her job to make the world a happier place.

“Kyle, you know what your aunt and uncle have done?”

He gave her a slight nod.

“So, you can appreciate that I might not want to spend time with their nephew. You do get that, don't you? I don't want to be rude but this seems kind of obvious. You're making me uncomfortable, Kyle. Do you understand?”

Kyle held up his hands. A rash had traveled up his throat and was spreading onto his cheeks. Emma suddenly had a flash of him in high school. He'd been terribly shy but kind. He'd been one of the few to write to her following the scene Caleb made at Lucy's funeral.

You're a good person, Emma. Always remember that. Stay in touch. You're one of the few people around here I feel close to.

He started stuttering and it was like they'd never left those classrooms.

“I … I … I … just want you to know how sorry I am. Carla … Lloyd … they were bad … people.”

Emma watched him for a few seconds. He'd been one of those kids who hid out in the library, book smart but almost incapable of holding a conversation with anyone outside his close circle of friends. Nathan's crowd had singled him out on occasion. They'd been unnecessarily cruel and Emma hadn't intervened as often as she should have. Kyle had changed over the past twelve years. For one thing, he'd filled out. They'd both been teased a lot in high school. His and hers stick figures had been etched into their lockers and scribbled on their notebooks.

“I'm sorry, Kyle. I shouldn't take this out on you. You were always nice to me back in high school.”

“You were always good to me too.”

“You're the only reason I survived AP biology. The fetal pig incident still haunts me.”

“Speaking of haunting,” he said, glancing at the notice board. “Nathan is getting married to Cynthia Phelps.”

“I saw.”

“She's had her eye on him since high school.”

Emma shrugged. “That feels like a lifetime ago.”

“If you'd stayed in Walleye it would feel more like a life sentence.”

Emma noted Kyle's jacket and tie. They looked new. This was a man who spent his childhood wearing castoffs.

“Can't be all that bad,” she said. “You look like you're doing okay.”

He stood a little taller. “I get by.”

“This must be an impossible situation for your family,” she said, fumbling in her bag and handing him her business card out of habit. “This whole thing … I just don't know how to act. Plus, being back here again. It's confusing.” She gestured toward the foyer. It was starting to fill up with her mother's friends. The reception must have ended. “Anyway, I have to go.”

Kyle tucked her business card into his pocket. “We used to meet in the library every Tuesday. There was that table that everyone said was jinxed, but we sat there anyway.”

She could see him clearly now, sitting at a study table far back in the stacks, his face twisted with concentration, his glasses looked thick enough to stop bullets.

“You don't wear glasses anymore.”

He held out his hand and this time Emma took it.

“Corrective surgery,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “It's really good to see you again, Emma.”

Emma felt a blush creeping up her neck. She turned away. Her mother was in the foyer. She was talking to Dr. Whitaker.

“It's probably best that my mom doesn't see you.”

He kept to the shadows. “Don't worry. I know when to make myself scarce.”

*   *   *

Emma and her mother sat in the living room staring at the television. The news was on but neither of them was paying much attention to what was happening on the screen.

“Emma, promise me that you'll forget what I said about Dot. It was just some crazy notion that's been running through my head. I don't know what came over me.”

“You've been under a lot of stress. It's understandable.”

“Dot and I talked a long while this evening. She was a real comfort.”

“That's nice,” said Emma. “Out of curiosity, what did she think of Lucy's artwork?”

“Artwork?”

“You told me you showed her some of Lucy's drawings.”

“Oh, you lost me there for a second.” Francine took a sip of her tea. “She thought Lucy had potential. When she took her on as an assistant I was hopeful the Whitakers would be a positive influence.”

“I didn't know Lucy worked for Dot.”

Francine sank down further into her chair. “She'd been fired by the time you came back. To tell you the truth, it was an awkward situation. I'd introduced her to Dot.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“I assume they fell out because of Lucy's behavior. She'd become erratic. She was showing up at the back door day and night. Always asking for money. Your father spoke to Caleb because we were worried. The visits stopped after that.”

“Did the police ever find out where she was getting the drugs she was selling?”

“Not that I know of. Your father was so upset. You know how he feels about that sort of thing.”

“Mom,” Emma said, sitting forward in her chair. “There's something you need to know about dad. He—”

Francine held up her hand. “I decided a long time ago that I didn't want to know the details about your father's past drug addictions.”

Emma retreated. “You've known all this time?”

“I didn't have much choice but to accept him despite his failings. Your father waited until the morning we got married to tell me. I had had an inkling he was keeping secrets.”

“It must have been a shock. You couldn't have suspected he was addicted to heroin.”

“Not in my wildest dreams. He'd hinted that he'd come here to Walleye Junction to escape his past. To tell you the truth I thought he was running away from the law. I was young then. A bit of a romantic. The idea didn't bother me as much as it should have.”

“Do you think he told you everything?”

“Yes, I had faith in him. He swore that he'd never use again, that he loved me more than any drug.” Francine paused. “I guess he didn't love me enough. If he was using drugs again it would explain his recent behavior.”

“He did love you, Mom. More than anything.”

“It wasn't enough.”

“I don't think we should tell the police about this. There's still a chance he was forced to take it.”

“Your father was a good man. I don't want him to be remembered like that. People won't understand. All they'll see is the word
addict
.”

Emma started to cry. “I miss him.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes. The weather forecast for the next few days called for sunshine and temperatures in the high sixties. Francine stared at the screen.

“Your father spent most of his life trying to make amends for his misspent youth. You should have seen him in the months after Lucy died. He was so angry that he hadn't done something sooner.”

“Sometimes,” said Emma. “I feel like Lucy's death was my fault.”

“She wasn't your responsibility.”

“I promised to look after her.”

“Emma, you were only nine years old when Lucy's mother died and Beverly, bless her heart, had no right to saddle you with a burden like that.”

“It wasn't all bad. For a long time we were close, like siblings.”

“Yes,” said Francine. “But she was always holding you back. You really did your best by that girl. If it weren't for you and Nathan, she would have been completely friendless.”

“I didn't think you understood.”

“It was your father who set me straight. You know me … all unicorns and rainbows. I used to only see the good in people.” Francine frowned at something on the news. An inmate at the Montana State Prison had been shot dead by guards after he assaulted several prisoners. “I don't anymore.”

“There's still a lot of good out there. You could see that this evening at the church. It was a nice service. I talked to so many people who care about you.”

“They care about you too.”

Emma looked down at her hands. Many of those same people had been at Lucy's funeral. Caleb's words had been met with stunned silence. Not one of them had spoken out against him.

“I guess that's nice to know,” said Emma.

“They're concerned. They thought you were looking unwell.”

“I was feeling faint.”

Francine sniffed into a tissue. “It's not surprising. You run miles every day and yet you eat hardly anything.”

“That's not why I was feeling unwell.”

“You're too thin. It's just like when you were in high school. It worried me then. It worries me now.”

 

9

Bob Crawley sat at a table in Walleye Junction's police department's only interview room. His hair was as blond and boyishly cut as it had been when they'd met the previous summer. He stood as Macy entered the room.

“Detective Greeley,” he said, giving her a firm handshake and holding on for a few seconds too long. “Always a pleasure.”

She arched an eyebrow. She didn't like this game but decided it was best to play along for the time being.

“We have to quit meeting like this, Mr. Crawley. People are starting to talk.”

He laughed. “Let them.”

“Please,” she said, gesturing to his empty chair. “Have a seat.”

Once the attending officer left the room she explained that the interview was being videotaped and read him his Miranda rights in full.

“I already understand my rights,” he said. “I have a law degree.”

“Which makes it even more essential for us to do this by the book.” Macy's smile wasn't genuine. “I have your previous statement here. You were interviewed in relation to a serious incident that took place in Ron Forester's home.” She handed him the written statement. “I want you to read this over carefully and tell me whether there's anything you'd like to add.”

Bob slipped on his glasses. “No,” he said, passing it back. “It's all there. Rob is a good friend. I've spent time there. I've provided you with my fingerprints for elimination purposes.”

“You were asked specifically about the alarm code.”

“Ron gave it to me years ago. He's not all that original. It's his ex-wife's birthday. Margot was a classic Scorpio.”

“In your statement you say that you were with Ron Forester the last time you entered the property. You spent the evening playing poker and eating pizza.”

“That is correct.”

“It has been reported that you were drinking heavily.”

“That is also correct.”

“Did you spend the night?”

“I did.”

Macy showed him a floor plan of Forester's house. “Could you indicate which room you stayed in?”

Bob pointed out an upstairs guestroom.

“That's interesting.”

“Why?”

“We found your DNA and fingerprints in that room.”

He shrugged. “It's where I slept.”

“The room has been thoroughly cleaned on several occasions during the past year.”

“Then Ron should probably fire his cleaner.”

“Since the evening other guests have stayed in that same room and yet there is no trace of their DNA and fingerprints.” She gestured to his original statement. “Are you sure you don't wish to add something? It wasn't just your DNA that was found in that room.”

Bob Crawley took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“Does the name Carla Spencer mean anything to you?” asked Macy. “We found your business card in her possession.”

“I'm sorry. The name doesn't sound familiar.”

Macy placed Carla's photo on the table.

“She delivered the pizzas on the night you stayed at Ron Forester's house.”

Bob picked up the photo and stared at it.

“I was drunk. It was mutual. What's going on here? Is she claiming I assaulted her?”

“What's the nature of your relationship with Carla Spencer?”

“It was a one-off thing.”

“We have your DNA in an upstairs bedroom and alarm records show that the property was entered on five separate occasions after Ron Forester began his sentence at Montana State Prison. We have so far been unable to account for these late night visits. Did you meet Carla Spencer at the house?”