Love and Death in Blue Lake (16 page)

“You have to admit, it’s weird how he disappeared.”

Eddie didn’t tell Bob that he didn’t think Harlan looked too hard for the guy. But yeah, he thought it was a little weird. If the guy had nothing to hide, why run? He must have done the deed for the dead kid and so was technically a hit man.

When they’d paid him a visit earlier, he’d claimed no knowledge of any car tampering until Eddie said (lied, rather) that Harlan was having the vehicle impounded and it would be tested by state-of-the-art crime scene technology for any sort of fancy tampering. Bob had blurted out the evaporating water theory, and the mechanic had dropped his wrench.

“I’ll come in, but I didn’t do anything,” he’d sworn. “Hell, there’s twenty guys from here to Blue Lake who work on Caddies.”

“Yes, but only you work on Mrs. Van Slyke’s car.” Bob was like a dog with a stuffed toy. He was going to work this guy until he shredded him.

“Yeah, and I inspected it after the accident. I got my own high tech methods, and I’m telling you, no foul play. Not even the thing the kid cooked up.” The mechanic directed his reply to Eddie, smirking at Bob before he picked up his greasy tool, composure regained.

But that evaporating water trick was genius. The stuff of urban legend. It would work, sure, but Mrs. Van Slyke’s car had swerved and hit a utility pole on the opposite side of the road. How could the mechanic ensure that happened? Had to be a conspiracy of dummies. Well, they’d almost gotten away with it. Almost.

“I talked to Lily today about that thing at the crossroads, where Mrs. Van Slyke swerved and ended up on the wrong side of the road.”

“And?”

“Turn here. Okay, third house down. Top floor. Stairs around back.” They parked in front of the mechanic’s house. Too many cars and trucks on this street to know if one was his or not. “So, Mrs. Van Slyke had a hair appointment every Tuesday at 11 a.m. for twenty-five years. The cousin would know this. He could have set something up.”

“I hate to say it, but it sounds far-fetched. Bet the guy will be home. Drunk. Forgot to visit the police. Missed Harlan’s call.”

They went up the back steps. The door was locked. Eddie knocked. No answer. He pulled out a credit card and popped the cheap lock. Why bother?

The place was a tip. Stacked empty pizza boxes left a smell that permeated the premises. A trash bin full of beer cans sat next to the fridge. A plastic garbage bag full of paper plates was kicked to the side of the sink. The other rooms were equally uncompelling. From the piles of dirty laundry in the bedroom, it didn’t look like the mechanic had packed for any vacation.

“You realize Harlan doesn’t think the cousin killed Lily. He’s not interested in this mechanic.”

“But Dean seems to think Lily may be right and so does Dr. Fass, er, Courtney.”

Bob stopped by a plastic table next to a cheap leather-like chair. That and the huge television hung on the wall made up the bulk of the living room. “Look at this.”

Eddie took the pad of paper with the garage’s logo on top from Bob. “A street name.” Bob was already looking at his phone, punching keys and swiping the screen the way kids did these days. “It looks like there’s nothing there. A hundred acres of hunting land.”

“Wait, I know that land.” Eddie had looked around a lot before deciding to buy the property on the Sapphire River. “And guess who owns it?”

Bob rubbed his face. The kid looked tired.

“Papa Van Slyke,” Eddie said.

Bob, alert now, nodded. “Interesting. Hunting cabin on the property?”

“Shit if I know. Let’s go find out.”

“Seems like a dumb place to hide.”

“Not if nobody official seems very interested in finding you.”

“Okay.” Bob closed the door on the way out.

They found the road and about half a mile in a two-track pathway. Bob shined the flashlight in the dark, but they didn’t see any cabin. Still they kept riding. Eventually they saw a truck with the name of the garage on the side. “Bingo,” Bob said.

The place was dark, but then it was after midnight.

They walked right into the place, door unlocked. Bob led the way, and Eddie almost walked into him because Bob stopped just inside the door, his flashlight trained on a dead body on a fancy carpet. The mechanic. His head was split open and congealed blood pooled underneath him. Just as they heard a car engine, Eddie noticed no blood had seeped anywhere except onto the rug. Shit.

Bob and Eddie stood there, Eddie dialing Harlan, hoping this new guy getting out of a plenty roomy SUV was not the one who had come to roll the body up and cart it away. Bob flashed his light. “That’s Dean.”

“The ex-cop Lily knows?” Eddie had already hung up with Harlan. Dean came up to the door, took in the scene, and used his own phone to call Harlan. He spoke too low for Eddie to catch his words. But it seemed as if Harlan had let him in on the case. Whatever. He didn’t know what he was doing here except that Lily reminded him a little bit of Courtney at that age. Angry. Lost. Artist who didn’t understand what she was yet.

Bob made introductions as the three men stood there not touching anything, waiting. Eddie was impressed with the ex-cop’s detecting skills. He and Bob knew the area, knew the story, had been working on this thing for Lily all day. Dean had found it in what? An hour?

“Well, boys,” Dean said, “looking at this as an outsider, I’d say the cousin didn’t kill the wife after all.”

Eddie and Bob were silent a beat. Eddie’s mind went through the information like a stack of index cards. He was missing a few of them, but Bob caught on fast enough.

“Papa Van Slyke,” Bob said. “Had to be. He’s got a meeting with Lily tomorrow. Dr. Fass, I mean, Courtney, thought it would be good for closure.”

“That’ll work,” Dean said.

“What?” Bob said over the sound of another engine running up the road. Just as quickly the vehicle rammed into reverse and got the hell out of there.

“The cleaner,” Dean said. “Van Slyke may have done the killing, but he would want someone else to get rid of the evidence. A professional.”

Damn. This guy was good. Eddie felt a little sorry for Bob. He’d been trying so hard to help Lily and be her hero, and now this guy shows up out of nowhere.

“Maybe the tire tracks will help the investigation,” Bob said.

Dean smiled kindly. “Not likely to be found. But Lily had that plan and it takes the DNA lab a few days to get a match, if they find anything they can use, hair, fibers, blood.”

“Lily said her dad’s coming over at one. After lunch,” Bob said.

“That’ll give her plenty of time to set her trap,” Eddie said, all the index cards finally lining up in his mind.

Bob nodded. Dean didn’t say anything, but he nodded too. Eddie had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

Chapter Nine

Lily’s father pulled up five minutes late. That was fine. Somehow—slow news day? Dr. Fass magic?—there were reporters in the street. They took photographs of Papa like he was a celebrity. It sickened Lily. She plastered a fake smile on her face, remembering she wasn’t alone. She had a team. Their plan was solid. The entire room was wired with videocams and voice. Lily had hidden them in strategic locations and had, after much deliberation, decided Papa’s weakness was still going to be bourbon. Beside an old-fashioned crystal decanter on a bar cart from the 1920s, she aimed her best camera, disguised in the cocktail shaker, directly at the chair she intended to herd him toward. Around the shaker, soda, a carafe of wine, and assorted bottles filled out the tableau. But a Waterford bucket full of ice and the bourbon was the knife that would loosen the taut thread of Papa’s lies. Her cameras, stashed on the mantel, on a table, in that cocktail shaker, caught every angle of the room. She’d finally have her confession.

When she’d first heard that her father had killed her mother, Bob breaking the news while Dean stood stoic at his side, something clicked. It made terrible sense. She was all in from the moment she saw the idea of a revised plan in Dean’s eyes. Not that any of it would be admissible in court, but YouTube was a power unto itself. And Lily just needed to hear him say the words. Like she’d needed to hear her cousin. She had a moment of anxiety. What if this turned out like that? No. It wouldn’t. There was a clear plan here. It was different. Dean was in charge. Bob was behind her, all the Brymans were. And her gun was still with Harlan Murphy.

Dean and Daniel had skills and resources Papa wouldn’t be prepared for—her father (she hadn’t called him Papa in years, but the name had stuck and now everyone else did) didn’t know one thing about Dean, who was parked at the kitchen table, his laptop monitor watching everything in the room. Dr. Fass was here too. She’d coached Lily on how to handle the hypothetical conversation with her father. She’d also arranged media interviews after the meeting. Everyone, local and national, wanted an exclusive with Lily.

Lily’s team had advised she stick close to the Bryman property and offer “no comment” and she had done so. No reason for Papa to think she’d go rogue once he pulled out of the driveway after their talk.

Dr. Fass was facilitating a “healing” process between Papa and Lily. What a joke, but it got him here. He wanted to look cooperative. He didn’t know she knew they’d found the mechanic’s body at his hunting cabin last night, that DNA evidence had been collected and put on fast track with state and local authorities.

“I’m afraid of him. Really afraid.” Lily gave Dr. Fass one final look as Papa walked up the wide steps to the Bryman manse.

Just an hour earlier, Dr. Fass had asked how her father had come to be known as “Papa” to all the world.

“I used to call him that—before—”

“The rape?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good. We can use that. It might trigger something in him.” So Lily started thinking of her father as Papa again.

“Own that fear you feel. Use it,” Dr. Fass said, opening the door.

“Hi, Papa.” Lily smiled as cameras clicked.
Remember how close you once were; remember how you adored him,
Dr. Fass had counseled. Lily took her father’s hand and pulled him into the big room, leading him past the bar cart with the bourbon clearly labeled on an engraved silver insert. Dr. Fass disappeared up the staircase, as they’d discussed. Lily ignored the bourbon on the cart and chose a bottle of water, setting it off to the side as she lifted a cut crystal glass, tossed in a few glittering ice cubes from the ice bucket, and asked her father if he’d like something. She tried to remember not to think of him as Dad or Father or Monster, but Papa.

“Small batch?”

“Hmmm?” Lily pretended not to know what Papa was talking about. He took the glass from her hand and lifted the stopper from the decanter. Poured generously. She picked up her bottle of water, twisted the top, and drank straight from the bottle as she headed to the sofa.

“Let’s get this charade over and done,” Papa said. He sat in a leather wing chair as far as possible from the sofa where Lily stood, pretending uncertainty. It was the spot where she’d aimed the cocktail shaker. He was a predictable man.

“It’s not a charade to me,” Lily said. “I want to apologize for—for—” She wasn’t acting. This was hard to say.

“For murdering your cousin in cold blood?” Papa took a large swallow of his drink. The glass never left his hand.

“Yeah, that.” Tears sprang, and she let him see them. “I—lost it for a minute.” She set her water bottle on the side table where another camera was hidden in a lamp. She’d be sick if she took another sip. “Papa…” She let the name hang in the air for a second or two. “Do you know why he was here?”

“I don’t know shit except you killed him.”

Lily didn’t bother to correct his characterization of the scenario.

“Where’s the family? Where’s this shrink?”

“The family are out. My therapist thought it best if we had privacy, so we wouldn’t feel inhibited by her presence.” It was true. Dean was in the kitchen, monitoring the room with a laptop. The family were all out in the back, safely tucked into a garage office.

“So we’re alone?”

“It’s okay.” She laughed, nervous. “The police still have my gun.”

“Oh, I’m not afraid, little girl. But you should be.”

She noticed the slight bulge under his jacket. Holster. He’d called her “little girl,” which meant her act was working. He stood and went over to the cocktail trolley for another drink. Not unsteady on his feet. Yet.

“I am, a little,” she admitted. Let him think he had the upper hand, and anyway, it was true.

He strolled over to the fireplace, resting an elbow on the mantel. Yes, he was a big man. Tall and intimidating. But Lily didn’t feel intimidated anymore. She felt something else. Anger. She waited until he took a healthy slug of his drink, then pounced. “Did you kill Mom?”

Papa swallowed, but his eyes bulged with the effort not to spew or cough. He left the drink—almost empty—on the mantel and marched toward her, roaring, “What did you say?”

“You heard me.” She kept her tone soft and matter-of-fact. “See, I’ve had time to think about it and now that they found the mechanic’s body—”

Papa choked. His face turned red. “When? How do you know that?” He stopped in the middle of the floor. “You’re lying.”

“In the cabin.”

Papa grabbed his glass and filled it so full it sloshed over the rim and onto the rug as he walked to the sofa, sat, and faced her. He ignored the mess he’d made and she did, too.

“It’s not what you think, Papa. I want to know because of what I did. Are we, is there something different about us? That we can kill people? Shouldn’t I feel bad? Do you, Papa?” She looked at him through adoring eyes, the ones that believed he knew the answer to every question in the universe.

He drank. Good. “She was going to divorce me.”

“No! She wouldn’t!” Lily’s surprise was real. Her mom had not said a word to her about any divorce.

He nodded. “Yep. That business with your trust.”

“I understood about that—I told her I did. Her money is your money. Any lawyer knows that.”

“Well, yes.” Papa relaxed, his legs unbending, his fingers unclenching. He gave her an assessing look. “You’re more like me than I realized.”