22

When Isaac went by Claire’s house, her car wasn’t there and the place was locked. No one responded to his knock.

He jimmied open the back door—it still had to be fixed from before—but couldn’t see that she’d made any progress on the cleanup. Everything looked exactly as they’d left it, giving him the distinct impression that she hadn’t even been at the house.

He’d dropped her there four hours ago. She must’ve taken off immediately after.

He wished he could contact her by cell phone, but that wasn’t possible in Pineview. No one had reception. Usually, Isaac didn’t have a problem with that. He liked the community’s laid-back lifestyle enough to sacrifice this modern convenience, but being unable to communicate with Claire meant that all he could do was perform a very random search.

The thought that something terrible had happened, or might happen if he didn’t find her fast, took center stage in his mind. Someone had most likely kidnapped and killed her mother. Someone had followed her to the studio several days ago. Someone had broken into her house only the night before last.

God, he should never have let her come here. Why had he? He hadn’t liked the idea from the beginning…?.

But maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Since her car was gone, chances were she’d simply changed plans and driven over to make peace with her family. Or she’d gone to Laurel’s. Laurel had asked her to come over last night, hadn’t she?

Telling himself not to panic too soon, he strode next door to see if her sister had heard from her.

“Leanne?” he called as he knocked. After yesterday’s confrontation, he hoped she wouldn’t ignore him. “It’s Isaac.”

To his relief, she opened the door almost immediately. She’d probably heard his truck when he drove up and was already aware of his presence. “You want me?” she said with false sweetness.

Too concerned about Claire to bother with niceties, he scowled. “Cut the bullshit. Where is she?”

She jerked up her chin. “Where is who?”

Was she joking? “Your sister, of course. Who else?”

“How would I know?” She spread her hands wide. “She’s not talking to me at the moment, remember? She basically flipped off her whole family when she went home with you.”

Was Leanne holding back? What if no one knew where Claire was? “That wasn’t what she intended, so don’t take it that way. Why not cut her some slack?”

“Cut her some slack? What about me?”

“She’s going through a hard time.”

“Maybe we all are.”

He caught hold of the door as she attempted to close it. “Claire was supposed to be at the house, cleaning up. You must’ve seen her.”

“I don’t notice everything that happens, or I’d know who broke in.”

“That was at night. When I brought her here this morning it was daylight, and you seem to notice most of what happens during the day.”

She blew out a sigh. “Fine. You want to hear what I know? As soon as you drove away, she got in her car and left. That’s it.”

Why hadn’t she mentioned that she was going somewhere else? “Where could she have gone?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Probably better. You’re her new confidant.”

He ignored this latest jab. “Call your parents. Call Laurel. Call anyone you think might’ve seen her. And call my house to see if she went back there for some reason.”

“She’s not at my parents’. I spoke to them only two hours—”

“Just make the calls!” he broke in.

“Why should I do anything to help you?”

“You’re not helping me!”

“Fine!” Her grimace let him know she resented his demands, but she left the door open and rolled into the kitchen.

Although he couldn’t make out what she said—by design or she would’ve used the phone in the living room—he could hear the drone of her voice while he paced on the stoop. He was still fighting his gut reaction, telling himself there had to be some innocuous explanation for Claire’s absence, when Leanne came back, but before she even opened her mouth, the look on her face kicked his stomach into his throat. Genuine concern had replaced her snide expression.

“No one’s seen her,” she said. “And there’s no answer at your place.” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “You don’t think—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. “Call 9-1-1 and get the sheriff involved,” he said as he jogged to his truck. Maybe, just maybe, she’d returned to his house and fallen asleep. Or she’d gone back to her mother’s studio…?.

He hoped that was it. But in his heart, Isaac didn’t believe the problem was that simple. She was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.

“What did you do with her?” Mouth dry, heart pounding, Jeremy nearly wet his pants as his father lifted his head. Confronting him like this was asking for trouble—asking to have his father knock his block off like the men in prison would do if he was ever sent there. Especially because his father had been drinking. He reeked of alcohol, still held a bottle loosely in one hand.

But Jeremy had to ask, had to know. Claire meant everything to him and always had.

“What did you say?” His father’s words came out a disbelieving whisper.

Jeremy swallowed hard. “Claire. She’s m-missing. I—I heard about it at Hank’s. Everyone’s looking for her.”

His father glared at him, forever it seemed—until Jeremy waved a hand in front of his face with a tentative “Hello?”

The life was back in his eyes. “Just stay out of it, you hear?” He took a long swig of the scotch he liked so well. “That’s all you’ve got to do—stay the hell out of it and keep your damn mouth shut.”

Jeremy knew he’d pushed his luck as far it would go. His father remained on the couch, looking whipped and eager to finish what was in his bottle, but he could change in a split second. Jeremy needed to get out of the house before the alcohol made Don any meaner than he already was.

He started to go. He wanted to run away, like he’d planned for so long. But he didn’t have any of his gear. He didn’t even have his car keys. They were on the side table next to his father. He was afraid to get them for fear his father would grab his hand.

He needed those keys. Didn’t want to walk. Couldn’t walk. The cemetery lay between him and anywhere he’d want to go, except the bait-and-tackle shop where he’d used the pay phone to warn Isaac that Claire might not be safe. Why hadn’t Isaac looked out for her?

Someone had broken into her house. He’d heard about that, too. And now she was gone…?.

The hatred he felt toward his father distilled into a hard ball in the pit of his stomach. If she was hurt, Don was to blame. Don had too many secrets to let her keep digging up the past. He said that over and over. Or maybe he’d hired Les Weaver. Like before. Les had killed David. Jeremy would never forget the call his father had received the day David was shot. “It’s done,” he’d heard when he accidentally picked up the extension at the same time his father answered.

Gathering his courage, Jeremy turned around to confront Don again. “She’s dead, like her mother. Isn’t she?”

Eyebrows jerking together like furry caterpillars, his father started to laugh.

Jeremy couldn’t figure out how to react to that. His father never laughed anymore. He was acting strange. “What’s so funny?”

With a pained sigh, he leaned back. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do. I want to know what’s going on. Is it Tug? You saw him again. You were with Joe, too. I heard you talking to them on the phone before you left.”

“You think I should explain?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Fine. This is what’s going on. I’m sitting here wondering what I ever did to deserve you. How is it that I married a no-good woman who bears a retarded son, then divorces me and refuses to take responsibility for the kid we created? How is it that I get falsely accused at the gun shop and lose my job? That I hurt my back? It’s funny, isn’t it? Here I am, with nothing, nothing but you—the one thing I don’t want.”

Jeremy felt his lip come out. “That’s not nice. I’m not…retarded. That’s a bad word. You’re not supposed to say it.”

“I’ll say it if I want to!” His face beamed scarlet as he jumped to his feet. “You’re not right in the head. I should’ve done what George did to Lennie. Lord knows I’ve thought about it often enough.”

Who was this George and Lennie his father kept talking about? George and Lennie and sometimes Curly’s wife. You have to shoot your own dog, he’d mutter, mostly when he was drunk.

But they didn’t have a dog. Neither did they know a George, or a Lennie, or even a Curly. Jeremy hated hearing about those people. If they were friends of his father’s, Jeremy had never seen them, but whoever they were, they were always on his father’s side.

“I don’t want to hear about Lennie anymore.” The words weren’t very loud. They sort of squeaked out, but Jeremy was proud of himself for speaking at all. He’d never stood up to his father before. “No more about shooting dogs, either. You’re the one who’s not right in the head.”

Look what he’d done to Alana…?. Jeremy had proof in the crawl space, didn’t he? How would his father like it if he pulled that suitcase out?

He didn’t have a chance to ask. His father lunged forward, baring his yellow teeth. “Maybe it’s not too late. No, it’s not too late. Why not do it now?” Steadying himself with one hand on the wall, he gestured toward the kitchen. “Get my gun.”

Jeremy leaped back, out of the way, and nearly peed his pants again. What did his father want with a gun? He shouldn’t have a gun. Not when he was drinking. Even a car was dangerous. Drunk Driving Kills. Jeremy had seen those bumper stickers. But he wasn’t sure he’d be able to talk his father out of what he had planned. Don suddenly looked like someone who was a stranger to him, probably because he seemed almost sober. That scared Jeremy more than knowing he was saying those things when he wasn’t thinking straight.

“I won’t.” Jeremy refused to go anywhere near him, not even to scoot past and reach the kitchen, and the gun, before him. “It—it’s not safe.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? It’s time to shoot my own damn dog.” Letting go of the wall, he staggered into the other room. “Everyone feels so sorry for you,” he ranted as he went. “Everyone thinks I’m such an ogre, that I should be nicer to poor Jeremy. But what would they do if they were me? I don’t see anyone stepping up to help. You’re my responsibility. Mine alone.”

Jeremy’s hands curled into fists as he found his voice and set it free. “Why would they?” he yelled. The anger had broken through, seemed to be filling his whole body, and he doubted he’d ever be able to put it back. This was the end of one or both of them. He and his father couldn’t live in the same house anymore. “They’re my friends but…they’re not family. They’re not blood.”

“How much is a father expected to do?”

Since this came from the kitchen, Jeremy could barely hear it. His father wasn’t yelling anymore. He wasn’t asking as if he expected an answer. Jeremy could tell by his tone that his eyes had returned to the blank stare that had felt so strange a moment earlier. Don had slipped inside himself and was seeing only he knew what—maybe his imaginary friends—Curly’s wife or…or Lennie.

“I’ve done my best to look after you,” he continued to mumble, “but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t even take care of myself these days. It’s better if you go this way.”

Jeremy heard a cupboard open and close, knew which one it would be. His father was getting his gun from above the fridge.

“I’ve tried to take care of you, too,” Jeremy pointed out, but he’d spoken barely loud enough for those words to reach his own ears. It didn’t matter what he said. His father was going to kill him. He had to leave now.

The keys on the side table drew his eye. They were right there, and his father was no longer in the way. All he had to do was scoop them up and go. And yet he couldn’t move. His legs felt like unbendable wooden stilts from which he might topple at any moment.

His father came around the corner, blinked the sweat from his eyes and took aim.

But he didn’t fire. Tears streaked down his face and his hands began to shake. Why? This was what he’d wanted for so long; he’d said as much.

“I’m sorry,” his father whispered. It was the first time Jeremy had ever heard him apologize. Or maybe it was the first time it had ever seemed real.

“I’m not a dog,” Jeremy responded, and put up his arms to protect his head, but that didn’t stop his father from pulling the trigger.

The blast drowned out all other sound.

Those first few minutes after Joe yanked her out of her car had been harrowing, especially when he hauled her into Peter’s house and Peter blocked the door so she couldn’t leave, but Claire was no longer frightened of the Kenyon brothers. They hadn’t tried to hurt her. They’d restrained her until they could get her to listen to what they had to say, and then they’d promised they could prove their words if she’d just give them the chance.

What they’d told her hadn’t been easy to hear. To avoid the way it made her feel, Claire told herself to withhold judgment until they found the metal box that was supposed to be buried here in the woods. But an emotional reckoning would, eventually, be inevitable. She already believed them, or she wouldn’t have spent the past several hours digging in the forest.

Gasping for breath, she leaned on her shovel. Her hole wasn’t nearly as big as Peter’s or Joe’s but it would soon be the size of a shallow grave. Where the hell was that damn metal box? If she didn’t find it quickly she wouldn’t be able to lift her arms anymore. She’d never done this much manual labor. “You sure this is the place?” She studied the trees towering around them as if they might offer her some sign.

Joe’s shovel continued to scrape against the soil. “How many times are you going to ask me that?”

“Sorry. But it’s been fifteen years. That’s a long time. And this deep in the forest, everything looks the same.”

“I know where I buried it,” he said. “Or about where I buried it.”

“It’ll be here,” Peter chimed in.

Claire was surprised Joe’s brother had deigned to speak to her. He still wasn’t happy that Joe had decided to take her into his confidence. He hadn’t complained about it since the initial confrontation ended; it was a moot point now. But he thought that what they’d divulged was too risky, and he had a point. That risk was the reason Joe had kept his silence for so long. He had a lot to lose if this came out, and it would come out if it had any bearing on her mother’s case.

Although Claire had been tempted to ask him about Leanne’s tape and what had happened when Alana showed up at his place the day she went missing, she hadn’t wanted to bring up that subject in front of Peter. She got the impression he didn’t know about it, was pretty sure Joe had kept it from everyone. She didn’t know if he’d handled it that way because Alana would’ve wanted him to or because Tug wouldn’t give him any more work if he told or because he was simply that nice.

After the past few hours, she was willing to believe he was that nice. He hadn’t had to come clean, even now, but he wasn’t willing to keep secrets if doing so put Claire in harm’s way. At least, that was what he said. After the incidents at her mother’s studio and then her house, he was convinced he had to speak up. Having her appear on his doorstep this morning, and feeling that Carly was once again running off at the mouth about a relationship between him and Alana—those things had been the final straw.

She was glad he’d broken his silence. But what he’d told her wouldn’t be worth much if they couldn’t find the metal box to back it up.

“One of us will find the damn thing eventually,” Joe added.

She just hoped the sun, and her strength, would hold out long enough. They were all damp with sweat, which meant they’d be cold once night came on. Pineview had beautiful summers with plenty of mild, warm days, but the air could get chilly as it grew late.

“What does the box look like again?” She was stalling, couldn’t convince her aching arms to lift another shovelful of dirt.

Scrape. Plop. Joe kept at it. “It’s a cash box.”

“Right.” Tilting her head back, she gazed up at the sky and cursed the growing darkness. She’d been away too long. Surely Isaac had returned from Myles’s office in Libby and was wondering where she’d gone. She wished she had some way to call him, to relieve the concern he had to be feeling, but she’d never dreamed retrieving this evidence would take so long. Joe had said he remembered where he’d buried it.

Peter paused to look over at her. “You want to give up for today? We could always come back tomorrow after work.”

He seemed to like that idea, and it was no wonder. He had nothing to gain by finding the box.

“We’re not quitting.” After all those hours of digging, they had to be close…?.

A frown creased his face. “We’ll have to quit soon. It’ll be too dark to continue.”

Joe wiped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I can’t believe we haven’t found it yet. Maybe we’re wasting our time. Maybe some animal dragged it away.”

Claire bit her lip. No. That couldn’t have happened, not after all the years she’d waited for Joe to speak.

“You think it’s gone?” Peter asked.

“What would an animal want with—” she started, but Joe figured out where she was going with this and interrupted before she could finish.

“Depends on the animal. Maybe with erosion and whatnot it was uncovered. A bear could’ve come across it and tried to break it open. They’re always looking for food.”

“But it wouldn’t smell like food.” And she had to have some luck, didn’t she?

“I’m just saying…something must’ve happened to it, because it was here.”

“It’s still here,” she insisted. “Come on. Let’s give it another hour.” Summoning what remained of her energy, she positioned her shovel at the bottom of her hole and jumped on it so it would cut deeper into the soil.

About halfway in, it struck something hard.