11

Claire had called Isaac with the address on Les Weaver’s check not long after he’d returned home from dropping her off. But it was only a P.O. box. Isaac had to use Weaver’s phone number and a reverse directory to come up with a physical address.

Now he wondered if he had the right place. The man who answered his knock lived in a rambling Mediterranean-style home located in an exclusive community, and he wore a tailored suit, which was a far cry from what Isaac had expected him to be wearing. Hunters could be all sorts of people—professionals in their day jobs—but this guy didn’t have the ruddy countenance or work-roughened hands Isaac usually saw on experienced outdoorsmen. Lean and angular, with dark hair gelled off his face, he looked about forty years old and seemed far too sophisticated to have made such a terrible mistake.

“Mr. Weaver?”

He held a set of keys in his left hand, which also sported a wedding band with a large diamond. Isaac guessed he’d caught Weaver just as he was about to leave. “Yes?”

“Les Weaver?”

His knuckles whitened on the door as if he was tempted to slam it. “Yes. Who are you?”

“Isaac Morgan. From Montana.” He thrust out his hand, but Weaver didn’t shake it.

“You’re a long way from home, Mr. Morgan. What can I do for you?”

Isaac thought the mere mention of his home state might cause a visible reaction, considering Weaver had killed a man there, but other than a subtle tightening in the muscles of his face and his refusal to shake, he didn’t let on that he had any bad memories of the place.

Dropping his hand, Isaac stepped back and gazed around. “Nice house.”

“Thanks. I think. You still haven’t told me what you want.”

“I was wondering if I could speak to you about what happened in the Cabinet Mountains a year ago.”

Weaver studied Isaac without any visible change in expression. “Are you with the sheriff’s office?”

“No, I’m a P.I. hired by Mr. O’Toole’s wife.”

His eyes slid to Isaac’s truck, which didn’t make Isaac look any more like a private investigator than this man’s suit made him look like a hunter. “Do you have a card?”

Isaac wished he’d thought to create some sort of proof to substantiate the lie. But he hadn’t planned that far ahead. As soon as he had an address, he’d taken off. It wasn’t until he saw who he’d be dealing with that he realized he needed to approach Weaver in a professional capacity if he expected this to go anywhere. Weaver was the kind of man who’d respect nothing less. “Not on me. But I’m sure there’s one in the truck. I’ll go—”

“I’m in a bit of a hurry.” He glanced over his shoulder as though he was afraid someone might overhear. “Just tell me why you’re here. Why would Mrs. O’Toole hire a private investigator?”

“Some evidence that’s recently come to light suggests her husband’s death wasn’t so much an accident as murder.”

He paled. “What evidence?”

He was growing agitated beneath that calm exterior, but even a man who’d shot someone by accident wouldn’t be happy to hear this. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

“That death couldn’t have been a murder.”

“Why not?”

“Because I shot him myself, and it was definitely an accident. The police know all this. I’ve already spoken to them.”

“Les? Is it for me?” a female voice called.

“No, I’ve got it, honey,” he called back.

Isaac went on as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “They’re considering reopening the case, so you’ll probably be hearing from them.”

“Oh, God.” He raked a hand through his hair, messing up that perfect lift at his forehead. “I don’t know what more I can say. I saw movement. I thought it was the bear I’d been tracking, and I took a shot. That was the worst decision of my life.”

His remorse sounded sincere enough that Isaac felt a little foolish for doubting him. If Weaver was as innocent as he claimed, Isaac had no desire to make his life more difficult. This man’s education, manner of dress and home lent him credibility. He wasn’t some thug, as Isaac had imagined.

Isaac almost apologized and left. But he figured he might as well finish the interview. “You were alone when it happened, is that correct?”

“Yes. The sheriff who questioned me knows I was.”

“Do you often go hunting alone?”

“I used to. That was how I cleared my head.”

“What made you choose the Cabinet Mountains?”

“They’re relatively close, and I’d heard they have a lot of game.”

“You don’t have friends in Pineview?”

“No.”

“Do you know anyone in the area?”

“Not a soul. That was the first time I’d ever been to that part of Montana, and I haven’t been back since.”

“But you still hunt?”

He stretched his neck. “No. Are you kidding? I’m done with it. I’m sure you can understand why. Shortly after that…unfortunate event, I got rid of all my guns. I don’t even want to see one, let alone fire it.” He added a rueful laugh that sounded as believable as the rest of his admission.

“I’m guessing guns don’t play much of a role in your day job.” Isaac indicated his attire.

A wry smile curved his lips as he brushed some lint from his suit. “No. That last incident didn’t have anything to do with me. Not directly.”

Isaac had all but decided he’d made a wasted trip. Until now. “That last incident?”

He grimaced. “I’m a bankruptcy attorney. Not long ago I had a client shoot himself in my office. It’s tough to lose everything, you know? BK really hits some people hard.” He looked confused. “I assumed that’s what started this up again. His wife refuses to believe he was suicidal, so she’s been digging around in my past, trying to cause me trouble. But I couldn’t have saved her husband. It happened too fast.” Bowing his head, he muttered, “It was terrible.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Now you know why I don’t want to see this old…hunting nightmare crop up again,” he said as he straightened. “David O’Toole’s death was my fault, but I didn’t mean to kill him. I swear it.”

“Les, you ready?” the same female voice called out.

Isaac caught a glimpse of a woman through the railing of a winding staircase.

“I’ve already got the keys,” he told her. Then he lowered his voice. “We’ve got a luncheon today. We raise money for autistic kids and we’re going to meet with the board of our charity. So if you have any other questions, maybe you can visit me at my office? I really don’t want to upset my wife. Both tragedies have affected her as deeply as they have me.”

“Of course.” Isaac took the business card Weaver presented him and stepped away. Les S. Weaver, Attorney at Law, he read as the door closed.

Isaac was still sitting in his truck with the engine idling, staring at the embossed lettering and thinking about a guy who raised money for autistic kids but was also, in one way or another, involved in two highly unlikely deaths, when the garage door opened. Weaver and an attractive blonde rolled down the driveway in a black Mercedes. Isaac watched to see if he’d look up or wave, but he acted as if Isaac wasn’t sitting at the curb and drove off.

With a frown, Isaac put the transmission in gear and gave the truck some gas, but then he circled back. It couldn’t hurt to have a quick look around while the Weavers were gone, just to make sure Les was as honest as he sounded.

It didn’t take much effort. What he could see through the back window convinced him he hadn’t been wrong to drive down here, after all.

 

Claire’s stepfather came in to get his hair cut as she was finishing up for the day. Considering how rocky things were between her and Leanne, she wasn’t sure if he really needed his hair trimmed—he was a bit obsessive about his appearance, but it hadn’t been that long since she’d done it—or he wanted to talk. She couldn’t remember a time when her stepfather hadn’t tried to smooth over any problem Leanne had. He’d always championed the baby of the family, even before the accident.

Usually Claire didn’t mind. Today, however, the idea that he might try to squeeze an apology out of her got on her nerves. No one felt worse about her sister’s loss of mobility than Claire. But Leanne had to be held accountable for her actions, just like anybody else. They were doing her no favors by making excuses for her every time she acted out.

“Is something wrong?” she asked as she used her spray bottle.

Pensive, he watched her in the mirror, and she realized how quickly he seemed to be aging these days. He’d been three years younger than her mother when they married, but at fifty-six, the lines around his eyes and mouth were more pronounced. “Just wanted to let you know I told Leanne about our last conversation.”

“You mean the one where you explained the tape.”

Wanda Fitzgerald, Claire’s last client, sat under the hair dryer, reading a magazine. Tug glanced over at her as if he feared she might be listening, saw that she was preoccupied and murmured, “Yes.”

Because of what Leanne had said earlier, Claire already knew he’d confessed to revealing her indiscretion as a thirteen-year-old. “Is that the reason you’re here?”

“That and a haircut.”

Or he didn’t want to address what was on his mind while others were present. Claire didn’t want to address what was on hers, either. Since her conversation with Isaac, she couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility that David had been murdered.

She rinsed and styled Wanda’s hair as her father swept up his own trimmings.

“Have you ever confronted Joe about Mom?” she asked once they were alone.

With what sounded like a heartfelt sigh, Tug leaned on the broom while she put the checks she’d received into a deposit bag.

“Yes.”

Again, Claire sensed a certain amount of resignation, which was a change from before. “And?”

“He claims they weren’t intimate.”

“But?”

“I think they were.”

No longer interested in the mundane details of finishing up work, Claire dropped the deposit bag onto her desk. “You told me yourself that wasn’t the case. You said, ‘It wasn’t your mother who was involved with Joe.’ Now you’re saying the opposite? That you believe Mom was cheating on you?”

He nodded.

“Why? And why didn’t you say so before?”

“I didn’t want to acknowledge that she might not have been as happy with me as I hoped she was.”

Several heartbeats passed before Claire could speak again. “But you and Joe are friends. He does the tree work on every property you own.”

“He lost someone he loved, too. And he’s always protected her memory. I respect that. I respect that he’s kept his mouth shut about what Leanne did, too.”

“So what makes you think they were…involved?”

“A lot of…little things, really.”

“Like…”

“She was very quiet, even secretive, in the months leading up to her disappearance.”

Claire couldn’t remember any of that. According to the police report, Alana and Tug had gone out for doughnuts and coffee the morning of the day in question. That certainly sounded amiable. “Are you sure this is something you noticed before she went missing and not a way to make losing her easier?”

Considering everything that had been said about Alana’s visits to Joe’s house, Claire could understand how Tug might struggle to maintain faith in Alana’s fidelity. Claire thought maybe his opinion had changed over the years, fallen more in line with what others believed in order to alleviate his guilt for moving on so quickly and completely.

“I’m sure. There were…other signs, too. She’d been taking birth control pills, something we never bothered with, since we wanted another child. I found the package in the false bottom of her jewelry box a week before she disappeared.”

“Where is it now?”

“Gone. I was so angry, I threw it away the day I confronted her about it.”

Given what Claire had heard her mother say about Tug’s inability to father a child, this made no sense. He’d obviously been hoping lightning would strike, because he certainly didn’t admit—or perhaps accept—his inability to father a child. She was tempted to mention overhearing that conversation, but she feared Tug would take it as further proof that Alana had been cheating. If she really believed he couldn’t impregnate her, why would she need birth control?

“You were forty-one when you married Roni. She was thirty-seven. Why didn’t you have a baby with her?” As far as Claire knew, they hadn’t even tried. They definitely hadn’t visited a fertility specialist. That would’ve required trips to Libby, Kalispell or somewhere else that had a specialist.

He still didn’t admit it. “Roni had already raised four children for her ex-husband, three of whom have never treated her very well. They couldn’t get over the fact that she’d replaced their mother and blamed her for the divorce.”

They also accused her of being too controlling, too strict. The three Tug referred to wouldn’t even speak to her, including the one living in Pineview who was close to Claire’s age. Fortunately, Roni had softened by the time she’d become her and Leanne’s stepmother.

“She wasn’t ready to start over with a new baby,” her father was saying. “Not only that, but your mother had recently gone missing. You two were so hurt and confused. It didn’t seem like the best time to bring another child into the family.”

Claire tucked her hair behind her ears. It was only five o’clock, but it’d been a long day. “I don’t understand. First you tell me about the video, a secret you’ve kept hidden for fifteen years—”

“I kept it hidden because it has no bearing on the case and—and I didn’t want to make your sister look bad.”

“How do you know it has no bearing on the case? It could make a huge difference in how the police interpret certain events. Then you come here to admit you think Mom was unfaithful?”

He hung his head. “I know how unreliable I must seem. Roni has always said you and Leanne need me to be consistent more than you need to hear my doubts. So I’ve stuck to my story. To be honest, I haven’t wanted to face the possibilities that come up when I veer away from it. But that incident at the cabin, when you could’ve been hurt much worse than you were, is making me rethink my approach. If there’s someone out there who hurt your mother, we need to know why and whether that person poses a risk to you and Leanne.” He put the broom in the closet. “Some days I’m convinced Alana loved me. Others, I’m convinced she didn’t.”

The buzzer sounded. “You couldn’t have left me a note?” Roni said to her husband as she walked in. “I’ve been searching all over town for you.”

Tug cleared his throat and gave Claire a look that said the conversation was over. “Sorry, I didn’t expect you back until later.”

The only stepdaughter from her previous marriage still on speaking terms with Roni was divorced with a child of her own. Roni visited them on occasion in Kalispell. Usually Tug went with her because she didn’t like the drive. Claire wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gone this time.

“Little Ashley had ballet lessons, so I didn’t stay long.”

Suddenly eager to go, Tug dropped a kiss on Claire’s forehead and started toward the door. “Did Liz say how her siblings are doing?” he asked Roni.

“I didn’t ask,” Roni replied. “You know those kids aren’t worth a damn. They don’t deserve our concern.”

An awkward silence followed this harsh declaration, but Claire wasn’t surprised by what Roni had said. She’d heard her stepmother make statements like that before. Roni didn’t seem to care that it made her look as bad as them. “You must be feeling better,” she said, sizing up her husband.

Tug nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

Claire caught him before he could open the door. “You’ve been sick?”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Woke up a bit off, that’s all.”

She’d just been thinking about how quickly he was aging. Could there be something more serious going on? “I’m sorry. I hope…I hope it doesn’t have any connection with what I’m doing.”

“No.”

“You’re sure?” She gave him a hug. She loved Roni, respected her for being consistent and responsible and, on the whole, a kind enough stepmother. But she’d always been somewhat perfunctory. It was Claire’s stepfather who held the biggest piece of her heart, and she knew Leanne felt the same.

“Don’t worry about me.”

It wasn’t until she stepped back that she noticed the strange expression on Roni’s face.

“What is it?” her stepmother demanded, glancing between them. “What’s going on?”

She didn’t know? Claire would’ve explained, but she had the feeling her father might be in trouble for not mentioning it himself. Roni could be authoritative and opinionated, and upsetting her was never a pleasant experience.

Claire hesitated, letting Tug respond.

“Nothing new.” He reached for the door handle, but Roni stopped him.

“What is it?” she repeated. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Tug’s lips thinned. It was the first time Claire had ever seen him show displeasure at Roni’s behavior. Normally he took whatever she said with a patient and loving smile. Was there some friction in their marriage after all? “Claire’s researching her mother’s disappearance again.”

Roni turned to confront Claire. “Is this true?”

“I’ve never really quit looking,” Claire said. “Sometimes I get discouraged and tread water for a while. And with David’s death I’ve been pretty preoccupied. But…the need to find out what happened never leaves me. It’s as strong now as ever.”

“What more can you do?” she asked. “Even the sheriff’s given up.”

“He and his deputies don’t have the same level of personal interest I do.”

Lines, deeper than she’d seen before, appeared on Roni’s forehead, showing how much she’d aged, too. “What about Leanne?”

Was she about to hear all the reasons she should, once again, put her sister’s needs and desires first? “What about her?”

Roni looked at Tug. When he didn’t speak, she continued herself. “This can’t be good for her. She’s dealing with enough anger and…and other emotional challenges without dredging up the second-most hurtful experience of her life.”

“Her handicap has nothing to do with this.”

“It’s something you should take into account. We don’t live in a vacuum. She’s drinking now. You know that, don’t you?”

“She’s been drinking for a while. And she should want the truth as badly as I do. Maybe once she has some answers, she can let go of her anger. Our mom didn’t leave us.”

“That’s just as possible as any other scenario,” Roni said. “But more to the point—when will enough be enough? When will you accept what is and move on with your life?”

Claire thought of the files she’d found and what they could signify about David’s death. She knew she shouldn’t say anything about that. Not yet. She needed to substantiate her suspicions first. But her stepmother was accusing her of making their lives miserable without having even the remotest chance of learning anything new. “When I’m satisfied that I’ve done all I can.”

“I think you’ve reached that place.”

“No.” Claire shook her head. “David found more. If he can do it, so can I.”

Roni’s purse slid down to her hand. “What are you talking about?”

“David picked up where the police left off. He was doing his own investigation when he was killed. I’m wondering if there’s a connection between that and his death.”

Tug blinked at her in surprise. “You can’t mean—”

“Yes, I can. I’m saying maybe his death wasn’t an accident.”

“But…but that’s crazy!” Roni sputtered. “It was an accident. Everyone knows that.”

“I don’t,” she said. “Not anymore.”

“Then you’re kidding yourself. You’re looking for someone to blame and sometimes there is no one. Think about Leanne’s accident. You’d both been down that mountain before. But on this occasion, she was going too fast when she hit the bottom. No one was responsible. It just…happened.”

Why was Roni bringing up the sledding accident? Just to make the sharp edge of guilt cut a little deeper? Claire had been there that day. Why wasn’t she the one thrown from a sled? “Someone doesn’t simply disappear.”

“No, but they can walk off without an explanation. And hunting accidents aren’t completely unheard of.”

Her mother hadn’t walked off. And David hadn’t been killed by a hunter who mistook him for a bear. The more she thought about the possibilities, the more Claire believed the two incidents were related. It made a dark sort of sense. Especially because she wasn’t the only one to see a connection. Isaac had raised the possibility first. Not that she planned to mention that.

“Who’d want to harm David?” her father asked, his voice hoarse with shock and concern.

Claire never took her eyes off Roni. “The same person who killed my mother, chopped her up and put her in her own suitcase.”

“That’s sick.” Tug looked green, but Roni didn’t. Face red, eyes shiny, she stuck a finger in Claire’s chest.

“You’re just trying to upset us. You’re trying to upset everyone. Why would you paint such a morbid picture for your father? You’re talking about a woman who was once his wife.”

“You’re worried about me upsetting him? My mother’s been missing for fifteen years. I’m sure he’s imagined just about every scenario by now, including that one.”

“Maybe she’s not what’s in that case!”

“Then what is?”

Roni was blinking and breathing faster than normal. “Listen, Claire. You need to stop. We’re happy the way we are. We don’t want you messing that up.”

Claire’s blood seemed to roar through her ears. “I’m ruining your happiness because I want to find my mother? Because I won’t forget about her like you want me to? Because I won’t pretend you were with us all along instead of her?”

“Claire, please, this isn’t helping.” Tug tried to put a hand on her shoulder but she moved out of reach.

“It’s too late,” Roni went on. “What don’t you understand? She’s gone, and there’s nothing you can do about that. God, you’re as bad as my other stepkids!”

A warning flashed in Claire’s mind, but she was too frazzled and angry to heed it. Over the years, she’d had very few serious arguments with her stepmother. It was easier to tolerate the minor irritations that cropped up than to deal with the aftermath of an argument. Roni was basically a good woman. And Claire cared enough about her father to bite her tongue before offending his wife. But she couldn’t seem to manage that today. “Because I’m not giving in to what you want? Because I’m insisting on the truth even though you wish I wouldn’t?”

“Because you don’t know when you’re crossing the line!”

“Were you seeing my father before my mother disappeared?” Claire screamed.

Roni’s jaw dropped. “What?”

Claire covered her mouth. She was screwing up all over the place, accusing everyone. She’d be friendless before this was over, but she couldn’t seem to hold in her doubts and questions anymore. “You two were together within six months of my mother’s disappearance.”

“So? What does that tell you? Now you think I killed her? Do you trust anyone?”

“No,” Claire said softly, “I don’t.” And there it was. What she’d hidden for as many years as her mother had been missing. She harbored some suspicion toward her stepfather and his wife. And since she’d learned about Leanne’s being out of school on the day Alana went missing, she even wondered about her sister.