What We Found (8 page)

“I… yes.” I was too startled to say anything but the truth.

“Thank you.”

What an odd thing to say. His mouth carried a hint of a smile, but his eyes were so bleak my heart ached even as it slowed its furious pumping.

“I remember you,” he said.

I couldn’t think of an answer. Of course he remembered me from yesterday. We’d just established that he recognized me.

His lips curved a fraction more. “You had a locker down the hall from me.” I must have still looked blank, because he added, “In high school.”

Understanding dawned. His smile became more natural than I’d seen it yet. “You don’t remember me.”

I struggled for something—anything—to say, so I wouldn’t look like a complete idiot. “I’m … sorry?”

“No surprise. You were a grade ahead. And I was kind of a geek.”

That was hard to believe. At a glance he was nondescript, but on closer examination, he had a lean, tough build, though his clothes hung a little too loose. I would have believed he was a wrestler in high school, but geek didn’t come to mind. He was kind of cute in a boy-next-door way, with close-cropped brown hair and those sad gray eyes that probably would have had Eslinda going all motherly.

But there was something about the way he stood, something lurking under the surface of those eyes, that warned against getting too close. He reminded me a bit of a stray dog, thin and abused and tragic, but still tough and wary, the kind you wanted to feed but were afraid to touch because you couldn’t quite trust it not to bite.

My quick examination ranged over his faded jeans, hiking boots, and the long-sleeved gray T-shirt he had pinned up over his missing hand. I was pretty sure I would have remembered someone missing a hand in high school.

He lifted the arm in question. “I didn’t have this then. It came later.”

I felt myself blushing. I hadn’t meant to stare. I was dying to know how he had lost it, but of course I couldn’t ask. I tried to think of something else to say, but questions crowded my mind. What was Bethany to him? He was younger than me, or maybe the same age since boys sometimes started school later. Surely he was too young to be one of Bethany’s rumored boyfriends.

I could ask. Surely it was a natural question in the circumstances. Not whether he was her boyfriend, but how he knew her.

I glanced around, anywhere but at him. Nascha stood about twenty feet away, watching us. She raised her eyebrows as if asking whether she should interrupt. It was tempting to ask for rescue, but that would end the conversation before I’d gotten any answers.

I turned back to the man and said in a rush, “How do you know Bethany Moore?”

His eyes closed for a moment. “She’s
my sister.”

Someone had mentioned a brother—Eslinda—she’d said something had happened to him. I hadn’t wanted to ask what, but had vaguely assumed he’d also died. But maybe this was that brother. I forced myself not to look down toward his hand.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said.

What? His hand? Or—my gaze wanted to shift toward the back window of the truck, but I made myself look at his face.

His mouth twisted unhappily. “That can’t have been easy for you. Especially without warning.” He added very softly, “She was pretty, once.”

He was talking about seeing the body. And he had been in the woods while the police were there. To see her, too? I cringed as the memory rose in my mind. It had been hard enough for a stranger. I couldn’t imagine seeing someone I’d loved in such a condition. And he offered
me
comfort! “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Sorry for your loss.” That sounded pathetic and clichéd.

“You did us a favor. Now we know.” His face hardened and his gaze shifted to the distance. “Maybe now we can do something about it,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. He met my eyes again. “Anyway, thank you. Your friend’s waiting. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“I guess so.” I started to walk away, but spun back. “Wait! I don’t know your name.”

“Kyle. Kyle Moore.”

I nodded. “I’m Audra Needham.”

He smiled. “I know.”

He got into his truck and I joined Nascha. As we headed down the street, she asked, “What do you think about that drink now?”

I blew out a breath. “That was definitely more than I bargained for. But it’s all right. Everything makes sense now, I think.” I hadn’t actually had time to figure it out. I paused by the ice cream parlor entrance and glanced back as the truck pulled away. “It’s her brother. Bethany Moore’s brother.”

“Oh, of course. He was there yesterday to identify the body.”

“How do you know that?”

“It was in the newspaper that her brother identified the body. I forgot until now.”

“But that doesn’t explain the cages in his truck, or the strange screaming.” I shook it off. “That poor man, to have to identify his sister’s body. It was bad enough for me to see it from a distance. If it were someone I knew and cared about….”

“Assuming, of course, they cared for each other.”

I stared at her. She shrugged and added, “Not all families are happy.”

I knew that well enough. “Did the newspaper article mention me?”

“Not by name. They just said a female employee of the resort found the body. But I imagine it’s no secret now, at least at the lodge.”

“So the whole town won’t know until tomorrow, maybe.” I pulled open the door. “I really need that ice cream.”

We settled in chairs by the window. Nascha finished her sorbet and watched me plow through my caramel sundae. When I finally leaned back, she said, “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, I needed that. Well, I needed food. I
wanted
ice cream. And I want to never have another day like today or yesterday.”

“At least those officers were pleasant to look at.”

I nodded absently.

“I’m not sure which I prefer,” she added. “The one was so tall and had very nice green eyes. But the other had more of a sense of humor, I think. I liked the way he smiled.” Nascha looked at me, clearly waiting.

“Oh … no, really, you can’t think … I couldn’t….” I shook my head emphatically, even if I couldn’t explain what I was so emphatic about. “They’ve been very nice. Nicer than I deserve. But I wouldn’t know what to do with men like that.”

She grinned, suddenly much less serious—and more wicked—than I’d ever seen her. “I have a few ideas.”

I smiled reluctantly. “I just mean they’re so, well, competent. And older. Intimidating. I’d feel like a shy, awkward teenager with a crush on a teacher or something.”

“You wouldn’t feel equal.”

I nodded. “It’s hard, isn’t it? I don’t want to be like my mother, how she is now. Maybe she was different with my father; she was only sixteen. He was here for the winter, teaching skiing, and left before he found out she was pregnant. Or maybe when he found out. But I’ve seen Mom with other boyfriends, and she dominates. Everything has to be her way.”

Nascha leaned her elbows on the table. “Has she ever married?”

“Yes, she married Ricky’s—my brother’s—father. It lasted less than three years. He left when Ricky was a baby.” I sighed and poked my spoon at the melted swirls of vanilla and caramel in the bottom of the bowl. “And I can’t really blame him. He was a nice guy, but Mom made his life miserable.”

“You were fond of him?”

“Yes. I was ten when they started dating, and I very much wanted a father. I tried to be the perfect daughter. He was always kind to me, but….” Memories I’d tried to forget lurked in the shadows of my mind. My stomach churned.

“Audra.” Nascha touched my arm. “Are you all right? Did he try something?”

“No! Oh no, he didn’t do anything wrong. It was my mother.” I rubbed my hands over my face. Tears pricked my eyes and I couldn’t believe how easily the pain came back. But it was better to acknowledge it and move on. “I matured early. Physically, that is. I realize now I was incredibly naïve in high school. Anyway, by thirteen I’d shot up to five foot ten and gotten a figure, such as it is. I think my mother was jealous.”

“I don’t think I like your mother very much.”

I gave a watery chuckle. “When I’m feeling generous, I can feel sorry for her.” I straightened. “But she started picking at Richard for everything. And me, too. Making snide innuendos. I guess she finally found his breaking point. He walked out. I haven’t seen him since. She won’t even let him see Ricky.”

“If he really wanted to, he could fight for that right.”

I sighed. “Yes. And that hurts, too. He was nice, but weak. Mom is strong, but such a perfectionist she’s often cruel. I don’t want to be like either of them.”

She patted my arm again. “You aren’t. From what I’ve seen, you’re already better than either of them.”

“Thank you.” The ache started to recede.

“But I can understand why you don’t want a handsome, dominant police officer.” She gave her wicked grin. “So then you won’t mind if I take both of them.”

I laughed. “You’re just trying to cheer me up.”

“Is it working?”

“It is, thanks.” Tears wanted to well up again, but I blinked them back. I wasn’t usually this weepy. “And thanks for, well, putting up with me. You and Eslinda. You didn’t have to…” I broke off.

She scowled at me. “Am I going to have to buy you another sundae?” I managed a weak laugh and her voice grew gentle. “Audra, you’re not the villain here. We’re on your side.”

“I’m glad. It makes a difference.” I checked the time and sighed. “I should get going.”

Nascha rose. “At least it’s Friday.”

“Is it? I guess it is.”

“You’ll be at the festival tomorrow?”

I groaned. Even though Eslinda and I had been talking about it that morning, I’d forgotten. Working in event planning meant I often had to work evenings and weekends. The summer festival would attract tourists and locals alike, and I had to help keep the crowds happy and under control.

“I’ll be there.” We bussed the table and headed for the door.

I really needed a quiet evening and a good night’s rest. But I still had to deal with my mother and Ricky, the amateur detective. And I couldn’t even bear to think about what the next day would bring. Telling my story to the police didn’t end things. I shuddered as I wondered how Jay would react to the police questioning him again. And what about his father? Could Eslinda really control him?

I’d answered one or two questions, but far more remained. I wondered if I’d see Kyle Moore again. Nearly the whole town came out for the festival, but he probably wouldn’t attend so soon after his sister’s body had been found. His image rose in my mind, compassionate but guarded, with his sad eyes and hesitant smile. I wondered how long it would be before he could smile all the way, and what he’d look like then. I wondered about his hand, the cages in his truck, how it felt to lose a sibling, and whether he had anyone standing by him the way I had Nascha, Eslinda, and Ricky.

A shiver tickled my spine, but this time I wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else.

At least it was Mom’s turn to cook. Her meals were guaranteed to be healthy but bland, and I didn’t have much appetite after the ice cream sundae. Ricky, on the other hand, had become quite a chef. Mom thought men should do their fair share in the kitchen, so Ricky had been responsible for dinner two or three times a week since he was ten, as I had been. I didn’t disagree with her logic, especially after meeting men, and women, in college who didn’t know how to boil spaghetti. Self-sufficiency was good for either gender. Ricky had taken it beyond mere competence to genuine skill and enthusiasm. I wouldn’t want to feel too full for one of his meals.

I played with my food, waiting for someone to ask about my day. I wasn’t sure what I wanted them to know, and I was too tired to think of subtle comments to skirt the truth. Maybe, having come clean with the police and my boss, it was time to tell my mother the truth as well. But I imagined her reaction to hearing I’d lied to cover up for a man, and I cringed.

She talked about her day. She didn’t ask about mine. Ricky shot me a couple of meaningful glances but didn’t bring up the murder. He’d apparently already learned what I hadn’t figured out until I was thirteen or fourteen—if you didn’t bring up topics in front of Mom, she wouldn’t forbid you to do things. If she didn’t forbid you to do something, you wouldn’t have to lie or sneak around, and risk getting caught. And you always got caught.

After Ricky and I had washed and dried the dishes—our chore regardless of who cooked—we joined Mom for the rest of the local six o’clock news. Of course they were talking about the murder case.

“Police have questioned Thomas Bain. Mr. Bain, forty-two, had an on-and-off relationship with the twenty-seven-year-old victim for three years.”

Mom snorted a comment about old lechers preying on younger women. Considering that he was barely older than she was, her comment about “old” men had a bit of unintended irony.

I tuned her out and listened to the newscaster. “According to Mr. Bain, the relationship ended a year ago and he has seen little of her since. However, he admits to contacting Ms. Moore the day before her disappearance, as phone records show.”

“What did I tell you?” Mom said.

“I’m glad they have a suspect,” I said.

I tried to catch what the newscaster was saying while they showed a video of a man going into the police station. Was that Thomas Bain? He looked … harmless. An average guy, not too big, with brown hair and ordinary features.

“Mr. Bain claims his daughter can provide an alibi for the night Ms. Moore disappeared. Sources say the police are also questioning the daughter, eighteen-year-old Lia Bain.”

Ricky nudged me. “But it could be someone else! It’s never the obvious suspect.”

I nudged him back. “In your books, maybe. I expect in real life it’s often the obvious suspect.” I wondered about the daughter, though. She could hardly be called unbiased, but would a teenage girl lie to protect her father if he’d killed someone?

I glanced at Mom without turning my head. Despite our differences, I couldn’t imagine turning her in for a crime. Of course, I couldn’t imagine her committing murder, either.