Walleye Junction (16 page)

“How long did she stay?”

“I'm not sure. She was still there when I went to bed.”

“I need his name.”

“Could be awkward. He's married.”

“We'll be discreet.”

“Bob Crawley.”

Macy made a face.

“You know him?” asked Ron.

“We've met.”

“Then he's probably made a pass at you,” he said.

“It was in a professional capacity.”

“That wouldn't have mattered to him.”

“His wife wasn't too pleased the last time we spoke, either.”

“I hope you nail him for this,” he said.

“I thought he was your friend.”

“Now that I'm in here I know exactly who my friends are.” He glanced down at his bandaged hands like he was contemplating counting the number of friends he had on his fingers. “It turns out I don't have any.”

*   *   *

Night was falling as the prison's well-lit perimeter faded in the rearview mirror. The road heading into town was empty save a pinprick of red taillights in the distance. Following a round of polite introductions their driver had gone quiet. Gina had her hand wedged deep in a bag of potato chips.

“We missed our flight so I've initiated Plan B.”

Macy closed her eyes. Driving all the way back to Walleye Junction held no appeal.

“Does Plan B involve a glass of red wine?” asked Macy. “I still owe you a drink.”

“Sadly, no, but I'll take a rain check on that. I've rented a car. We're driving to Helena. We'll get a flight from there in the morning.”

“You'll have to spend time with your mother-in-law.”

“She's not so bad in small doses. To tell you the truth I think I resent her sometimes because she's there with the kids when I can't be. Anyway, I suspect I'll arrive just as she's heading up to bed.”

“Luke will be sound asleep by the time I get home.”

“Wake him up. A little anarchy never hurt anyone.”

“Honestly, I'm not sure I'm up for the anarchy. I'll see him in the morning. Did the Bozeman police find anything at the address Sean listed on his employment application for the brewery?”

“Looks like he used a random address. The homeowner said he'd never heard of Sean Spencer.”

Macy pictured Kristina's face captured on the security footage. There'd only been one camera at the entrance to the microbrewery, and it almost seemed like she'd gone out of her way to find it.

“What is going on with that kid?” said Macy. “He and his girlfriend go out of their way to advertise their location and then disappear into the night.”

“They could be leading us on a wild-goose chase. For all we know they're back in the Flathead Valley.”

*   *   *

Macy let herself in the front door and locked it behind her. Her mother was sitting on the family room sofa. As usual she had a book in her hand.

“Hi Mom,” said Macy, taking off her jacket and hanging it on a hook.

Ellen put her book to one side and took off her reading glasses. “I wasn't expecting you tonight.”

“We were at Montana State Prison all afternoon. The interviews took longer than expected so we decided to come back to Helena instead.”

“You must be exhausted. There's a bottle of red open on the counter.”

“Thank you, I'll go pour myself a glass.” Macy noticed her mother's glass was nearly empty. “Would you like a refill?”

“No thank you, I've had my one for today.”

Macy wandered into the dimly lit kitchen and poured a large measure of red. She'd fallen asleep in the car and was still feeling disoriented. She sifted through some mail that had been left on the counter. The only thing that stood out was the letter from Ray's eldest daughter, Nicole. She carried it into the living room and set it down on the coffee table next to her glass of wine.

“There's some leftover pasta in the refrigerator,” said Ellen.

Macy settled down on the sofa next to her mother. She took a sip of her wine but left the letter unopened.

“I wish I'd waited,” said Macy. “Gina stopped at a fast food Mexican restaurant for dinner. The woman likes her junk food.”

“She likes her opinions as well. In those five minutes you left us alone yesterday morning she shared her thoughts on everything from gay marriage to the value of a college education. For the record, we disagreed on both counts.”

“She's never been shy about letting folks know what's on her mind.”

Ellen glanced at the coffee table. “I see you found Nicole's letter,” she said.

Macy closed her eyes. It was the fourth letter she'd received from Ray's daughter since her and Ray's past relationship became public. Macy wasn't convinced any sort of correspondence was healthy for either of them, but during a brief phone call with Nicole's therapist, Macy had been told that it was a good idea for Nicole and her half-brother Luke to form some sort of relationship.

Nicole is convinced that Luke is the only positive thing that has come out of this difficult time. As part of her ongoing therapy, I've encouraged her to reach out to you.

Does her mother know about this?

Unfortunately, her mother has washed her hands of the situation.

Ellen placed her empty wineglass next to the envelope. “Are you going to open it?” she asked.

“I'm afraid to.”

“Remind me what the last one was like.”

Macy stared into space. “Four pages of teenage angst. She pretty much called me every name in the book and then some. I couldn't finish reading it.”

“If she's following a pattern then this one will be an apology.”

“I told her therapist that I wasn't willing to do this any longer if the verbal abuse continued.”

“What did the therapist say?”

“She didn't seem to think my discomfort was equal to Nicole's. Apparently, Nicole has been self-harming for some time but has recently graduated to slitting her wrists.”

“How does this kind of thing happen?” said Ellen. “I remember her being such a happy little girl.”

“Ray told me that you could see the moment she changed by looking at family photos.”

“How old was she?”

“Twelve. They were camping in Yellowstone Park. He and his wife had a huge fight in front of the girls. Nicole was never the same. The snapshots from the trip are like before and after photos. Healthy one day. Nervous wreck the next.”

“She was old enough to understand that her parent's problems were serious,” said Ellen.

“You have to admire her single-mindedness. She practically destroyed herself trying to keep the family together.”

“Wouldn't it be nice if she directed that same energy outward instead of inward?”

“I'm not so sure about that,” said Macy, taking another sip of wine. “It's pretty negative energy.”

Macy checked the return address on the envelope. It had been sent from the therapist's office in Chicago. It had been agreed that neither Macy's nor Nicole's home addresses would be revealed.

“I don't like that she's fixated on Luke,” said Macy. “The girl is as manipulative as she is unstable. Unless there's some real improvement I'm not letting her near him.”

“You won't get any argument from me on that front. How was today? Did you go see Ray in the end?”

“Ray doesn't want me to visit anymore. He told me that he didn't want Luke to know he exists.”

“That's probably for the best.”

“Luke is going to find out eventually. I can't protect him forever.”

“We've been over this a hundred times,” said Ellen. “Luke is the most loved up child I've ever met. He'll be fine.”

Macy squeezed her mother's hand. “I know I don't say thank you often enough. I wouldn't have been able to get through this without you. You've been amazing.”

“You'd have been fine on your own.”

“I wouldn't have been able to work.”

“You would have had to cut back for a few years, that's all.”

“Doesn't really work that way in law enforcement. There are no half measures.”

“Well,” her mother said, rising to her feet. “It's all academic. I'm here so all is well. Are you going to bed soon?”

Macy held up her glass. “I'm passing out as soon as I finish this.”

Ellen snatched the letter off the coffee table before Macy had a chance to pick it up again.

“I'm taking this with me,” said Ellen. “Regardless of its tone, I doubt it's good bedtime reading.”

*   *   *

The hallway light illuminated the soft curves of Luke's face. Macy watched him from the doorway for a few minutes before sitting on the edge of his narrow bed. She bent over and kissed his forehead. He stirred but did not wake. She removed one of his hands from beneath the blankets and pressed it to her cheek. It felt like a hot stone. She had no idea what she'd say to Luke when he was old enough to ask about his father. As far as she was concerned, the Ray she knew was dead. She didn't think she could breathe life into him if she tried.

Macy stretched out on her side and rested her head on Luke's pillow. Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Aiden, probably checking to see if she was okay. She started to answer then stopped. Aiden could wait until morning. She draped her arm across her son and closed her eyes.

 

8

Francine Long sat perched in the passenger seat of her daughter's hatchback with her handbag resting against her chest like a shield.

“Your car is so small,” said Francine. “Don't you feel vulnerable sitting down so low?”

Emma put the car in gear and backed out of the driveway.

“Finding parking is difficult where I live. I don't have much of a choice.”

“You wouldn't be able to drive this car here during the winter.”

“I wasn't planning on it.”

Francine checked the time. “After all the trouble Father Kevin has gone to organizing the service I'd hate to be late.”

“The church is less than five minutes away. We'll be fine.”

“We're expecting a high turnout so parking will be difficult.”

“Then it's a good thing I have a small car.”

Francine pointed to a narrow side street. “Take a right up here. Traffic will be heavy on the main road. We'll go the back way.”

“We could have walked,” said Emma. “The fresh air would have been good for you.”

“No, it's better this way. I feel safer.”

Emma almost reminded her mother that she'd just said that she'd felt unsafe but decided it best she keep that one to herself. She peeked in her review mirror. A patrol car trailed them at a discreet distance.

Francine held her hand up to the vent. “Can we turn the heat on? I'm a little cold.”

“It should warm up in a minute.” Emma paused. “Since I arrived home I've been thinking a lot about Lucy. I guess it's easier than thinking about Dad.”

“She used to come see me quite a bit the year you were away. Nine times out of ten she'd arrive at the back door in tears. She and Caleb fought all the time. If the wind direction was right we could hear them shouting.”

“Nathan said she had been getting up to all sorts of stuff,” said Emma.

“That may be so, but at first she just seemed to be at a loose end. She'd always bring over her sketchbook. That girl was always leaving stuff behind. I think it was her way of keeping a foothold in our lives. There's a whole folder of her work up in the attic somewhere. A few months after you left for England I showed some of Lucy's drawings to Dot.”

Emma clutched at various childhood memories. Finding nothing that pointed her in Dot's direction, she nodded vaguely.

Francine sighed. “Surely, you remember Dr. Whitaker's second wife, the one before Sharon? Dot used to be a nurse at the doctor's practice.”

“Tiny yet formidable.”

“That's the one.”

Dot had organized the art fair that took place alongside the Cherry Harvest Festival every autumn. A self-taught artist, she favored big blousy still lifes and paint-by-number style pastoral scenes. In the summer months she could be spotted with her easel positioned anywhere there was a scenic view. In the winter she disappeared into her art studio up at her house. She had a gallery on Main and her little pictures, as she liked to call them, sold well among visiting tourists. One of Dot's paintings hung above the fireplace in Emma's parents' home. Emma had tried to get her father to admit that he secretly hated it, but he was unusually polite when it came to Dot's artwork.

Emma cleared her throat. “Does Dot still paint pretty pictures?”

“Pretty isn't really her thing these days.”

“Don't tell me she's gone to the dark side.”

“She's had a rough time.”

“When did she and Dr. Whitaker split up?” asked Emma.

“Eight years ago.”

“Did she keep the McMansion?”

“Among other things. She also still has a share in the doctor's practice.” Francine managed a smile. “I bet that keeps Peter on his toes.”

The Whitaker's home was an eight-thousand-square-foot edifice built into the hills overlooking Walleye Junction. The gated property had a long, winding drive, six bedrooms, and an indoor swimming pool that doubled as a dance floor when the retractable cover was put in place. The Whitakers' parties were legendary. Emma pictured Dot holding a cocktail and a cigarette while she danced on the diving board.

“It's funny how memory works,” said Emma. “Five minutes ago I couldn't recall Dot's face, but now it's like it all happened yesterday.”

“Hopefully, there are some good memories stored away in there,” said Francine. “I think you sometimes forget that you were happy here for a long while.”

If Francine hadn't been directing her every move, Emma would have driven past the multistory glass and brick fronted building without guessing it was a church. After the gas main explosion destroyed half of downtown, the church expanded into the empty lot where the cinema had once stood. It now took up one city block. Her father had joked that the parishioners were under the misguided impression that being seen from heaven was the next best thing to being there. In recent conversations, he'd been more withering in his criticism. He'd taken to calling it the church that pain built. He'd always been critical of organized religion, so Emma hadn't been surprised by his remarks. She'd warned him not to let Francine hear him say things like that.