Unspeakable (37 page)

“It's very nice,” Olivia lied. She heard gunshots in the distance. She looked out the window. There was an old, rusty VW minibus on bricks, and beyond that, some woods.

The old dog whimpered, then got up and waddled over to Troy. She put her head on his knee. “Old Bernice always gets nervous when she hears us hunting for dinner,” he explained, stroking the dog's head. “Anyway, my mom and good luck were always strangers. She never had any money, which is why I was surprised she'd scraped together a hundred and fifty bucks for your mother way back when. Funny thing though. I remember about a week or two before the fire, she started talking like she'd be coming into a lot of cash soon—big money, too. But she wouldn't say how. . . .”

Olivia shifted in the hardback chair. She wondered if the fire might have been an insurance scam that went awry.

“Didn't your mother have a younger brother?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Yeah, Bad Boy Wade. What did your old lady say about him?”

“Just that he was in some kind of trouble with the police,” Olivia said. “I guess he was hit by a train or something when they were trying to arrest him.”

“Do you know what they were arresting him for?” Troy asked.

Playing dumb, Olivia shook her head.

“Let's just say he may have killed a few people back in 1962, and we'll leave it at that. I got some of the details from my dad. My mom didn't talk much about Wade—not until the last year of her life. She claimed the police never knew the whole story about Wade and these murders. Mom told me on the hush-hush that she was one of two people who knew the truth behind these killings—and no one else would ever find out. She said the two of them would carry it to their graves. I can tell you, she was at least half-right—maybe completely right, if the other person's dead, too.”

“So—you have no idea who this other person might have been?”

“Haven't got a clue,” he replied, stroking the dog's head. “You don't suppose it was your mother, do you?”

“I don't think so.”

“Huh, maybe there wasn't anybody or any big unknown truth about her kid brother's killing spree,” he grumbled. “My old lady could be pretty full of shit at times. ‘I'm gonna get a lot of money.... I'm gonna quit drinking.... They'll be sorry they ever tangled with me. . . . Blah, blah, blah.' She wasn't past making up stories and telling lies. Like I say, the reality of her life wasn't very happy.”

Olivia gave him a sympathetic smile. She had a feeling there was nothing more Troy Morrow could tell her.

He nodded at the mug. “Aren't you going to drink your tea?”

“No, thanks,” she said, opening her purse. “I have a long drive back, and I don't want to make any stops.” She took out the three hundred dollars and set it on the table. “Anyway, there's the long-overdue thank-you from my mother. And thank you from me, too.” She got to her feet.

Troy quickly totaled up the bills and shoved them in the pocket of his jeans. He smiled up at her. His expression reminded her of Wade Grinnell's mug shot. “Hey, y'know, I'll bet you'd be interested in what I've got in the garage,” he said.

Olivia hesitated. “Oh, thanks, but I've already taken up too much of your time.”

He gently pushed the collie's head off his thigh and stood up. “No, I think you ought to see this. After all, you came all this way. . . .” He took hold of her arm.

Olivia felt her whole body tense up, but she let him lead her to the front door. Stepping outside, she breathed the fresh air again, but it felt good for only for a fleeting moment. He still had ahold of her arm. Past the wind chimes, she heard some more gunshots in the distance. She looked over at the women in the garden. The dreadlock woman smiled at her and then whispered something to the others.

Troy led her toward the two-car garage, between the house and the barn. Olivia stole a glance over at her car. She wondered if she should break away and make a run for it. Or was she being paranoid? No one had done anything threatening yet.

There was a padlock on the handle to the garage door. Troy finally let go of her arm to reach into his pocket. Pulling out a set of keys, he found the one for the padlock and opened it.

“You know, I should really get going,” Olivia said, taking a step away.

The door made a loud squeak as Troy opened it. “You sure?” he asked. “I have a bunch of my mom's old letters in here—along with some audiotapes she made. They got left behind back when my parents split up. Maybe you'll find some letters from your mom—or maybe your mom's on one of the tapes. Sure you don't want to check it out?”

With uncertainty, she looked past Troy, into the dark, cluttered garage. He reached around the doorway and switched on a light. Inside, along with a trio of motorcycles in various stages of repair, Olivia noticed a few bikes, some machine parts, hoses, and yard equipment.

Troy stepped inside, and moved a plastic kiddy pool turned on its side so he could get to a tall wooden ladder. “The boxes are up in the attic space here,” he said. “I don't know why I've held on to this shit. It's not worth anything. Guess I was just waiting for someone like you to show up.”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder at her car again. She took a step closer to the garage and saw the trapdoor in the ceiling. Troy set up the ladder beneath it. She noticed the one and only garage window had bars on it. “You know, I—I'd love to see what's there,” she said. “But I'm not good in attics and confined spaces. I'm claustrophobic.” It was a lie, but she didn't completely trust him—or his friends.

“It's only a couple of boxes. If you hold the ladder, I'll bring them down to you.”

Nodding reluctantly, Olivia stepped into the garage and over to the ladder. She held on to it while Troy made his way up to the trapdoor. “I really appreciate this,” she said nervously.

With a grunt, he dislodged the trapdoor and pushed it aside. Olivia turned away as a few little flecks of debris and dust fell from the hole in the ceiling. Troy continued on up into the dark loft space. After a moment, a light went on up there. She heard his footsteps and things being dragged across the floor. Another cloud of dust wafted down from the ceiling as he dropped something heavy. Olivia turned her head to the side and fanned the air. Troy seemed to be taking an eternity up there.

Outside, she noticed a man shuffling toward her car. It was the underpants guy, Bobby, now in jeans and a jacket. His hands in his pockets, he walked up to the driver's door and peered into the window. Olivia couldn't remember if she'd locked it earlier or not.

She glanced up at the cobwebs and rafters beyond the trapdoor above her. “Are you having any luck finding it?” she called.

“Not yet,” he grumbled. She heard something shifting up there.

Biting her lip, she checked on the car again. The seedy young man circled around the Mercury Sable. He ran a hand along the roof, then down the windshield and over the hood.

Olivia reached into her purse and found the car keys with the automatic locking device on the chain. She pressed the
lock
button, but nothing happened. She was too far away.

The guy was standing by the driver's door again. With one hand on the side mirror, he was peeking into the car once more.

“Hey, Troy?” Olivia called timidly. “I'm sorry, but you know your friend from earlier? I think he might—”

“Found 'em!” he yelled. There was more rumbling and creaking from above.

Olivia looked over toward her father's car again. Troy's friend was walking away from it. But he had a sudden bounce in his step—as if he'd just found a dollar on the sidewalk or something. He headed off toward the woods.

“Coming down,” Troy announced.

Olivia tightened her grip on the ladder as he climbed down the rungs—one at a time. He balanced a box with a Smirnoff Vodka label on it—and a smaller box on top of that. As he made his way down to the last rung, the smaller box started to tilt. Olivia got on her tiptoes and managed to grab it. The box was heavy—and old. She recognized the Frederick & Nelson logo on it from when she was a kid. The store had closed decades ago.

“Thanks,” Troy gasped, stepping away from the ladder. He dropped the Smirnoff box on the garage floor. Then he nodded to the box she was holding. “Those are her letters, and in here . . .” He gave the container on the floor a little kick. “These are the tapes, about twenty of them. It's all old reel-to-reel shit. Christ knows why I saved it.”

Olivia thought about the reel-to-reel tape from Orin Carney's basement. She set down the box of letters and looked inside the liquor store carton. Some of the tapes were in boxes with labels like
Music Mix, Jim Munchel's Birthday Party—May 3, '63, Xmas Carols, Beach Boys,
and
Jam Session—June 7, '62.
Several of the boxes were unlabeled, and about a dozen tapes didn't have boxes. She wondered if Wade was on any of those recordings.

“If you don't mind parting with these for a while,” she said, “I might be able to take them to a place in Seattle that could transfer these onto a disc for you.”

“What for?” he asked. “So I could listen to the Beach Boys or a bunch of people getting drunk at a birthday party? No thanks.” He climbed back up the ladder and struggled to pull the trapdoor back in its place.

Olivia moved over to the ladder and held it for him.

He finished with the trapdoor, and started climbing down the rungs again. “Take'm, keep'm,” he said, collapsing the ladder and lugging it back to its spot against the wall. “Take the other box, too. It's nothing but a bunch of cards and letters and old recipes she clipped out of magazines—just crap. It's not like we can get any money for that stuff. You're welcome to it.”

“Well, thanks,” Olivia said. She picked up the Frederick & Nelson box.

Troy grabbed the carton of tapes and hoisted it up on his shoulder.

As they stepped out of the garage together, Olivia noticed the women had stopped working in the garden. They stood stationary with their hoes and spades, looking toward the woods. Bobby came into the clearing with his two hunter friends. One was skinny with a beard. He wore an army fatigue jacket and a knit stocking cap. As he walked, he had a rifle slung across his shoulders with his hands dangling on each end—as if crucified. The third man was bald and stocky, with a long-sleeved T-shirt and sunglasses. He carried a shotgun at his side.

Approaching her dad's Sable, Olivia quickened her pace. It looked like Bobby and his friends were headed toward the car as well.

Olivia set the smaller box on the vehicle's hood. Then she reached into her purse and anxiously searched for the car keys.

“Hey, Troy!” one of them called. “Troy, hold up, man!”

Olivia finally found the keys and hit the
unlock
button. She realized the car was already unlocked. She quickly opened the door and set the Frederick & Nelson box on the passenger seat. Olivia took the Smirnoff box from Troy, who was distracted by his friends. “Thanks,” she said, a little breathless. She stashed it on the passenger side floor, and then shut the car door.

“Hey, don't let her leave,” the bald one called.

“What's going on?” Troy asked.

The three of them stopped just a few yards away from the car. Bobby motioned for Troy. “Come here for a sec. . . .”

Scratching the back of his neck under his ponytail, Troy sauntered over toward them.

Olivia glanced at the three women in the garden, all of them still watching. They seemed to know something was about to happen with the men in their impromptu powwow. The scrawny guy with the knit cap kept looking at her while the others muttered something to Troy.

She started to back away—around the front of her dad's car.

“Hey, girlie, stick around!” the scrawny one grinned.

With the keys clutched in her fist, Olivia froze.

The bald one raised his voice: “You can't just let anyone in here to snoop around. . . .”

“Hey, she's cool, man,” Troy assured him.

The skinny guy took the rifle from across his shoulders and now held it one hand. With his eyes fixed on her, he started to sway from side to side.

“What are you talking about?” she heard Bobby say loudly. “We could get some good money for it, man. . . .”

Olivia knew he must be talking about the car. She had a feeling they weren't going to let her leave—ever. Suddenly she bolted for the driver's door and pulled it open. Jumping into the front seat, she slammed the car door shut and locked it. With a shaky hand, she jammed the key into the ignition.

“Hey!” she heard one of them yell.

Olivia started up the car. The skinny one banged his fist on the hood. She hit the gas, wrenched the steering wheel to one side, and peeled away. The tires spewed out clouds of dirt and dust behind her. She couldn't see anything out the rear window. Speeding down the bumpy, potholed, dirt road, she expected to hear gunshots at any minute. But all she heard was the engine's roar—and the sound of pebbles rattling against the underside of the car.

Her heart racing, Olivia clutched the wheel and took a turn in the road. She almost expected the car to tip over. But the wheels stayed on the ground. Plumes of dust swelled behind her. Up ahead, she saw the highway—level and clear.

 

 

Olivia was third in line for the drive-thru car wash attached to a 76 station north of Centralia on Interstate 5. She couldn't very well return her dad's Sable to him filthy with an empty tank.

She'd gotten gas, made a much-needed stop in the restroom, and now sat in the front seat with the window rolled down. She really wanted a cigarette, but resisted. Instead, she sipped the Diet Coke she'd bought inside the station. She took out her cell. She'd told her father she'd call him in an hour—and that was over ninety minutes ago.