The Obsession (25 page)

And breaking it down yet again with the bartering factored.

“My dad did most of the figuring and math there.”

“It’s a lot of math and figuring.” And would take some of her own, but . . .

“I want the raised beds on the deck. Cooking can relax me after I’ve worked all day.”

“If you ditch Xander, maybe you’d marry me. I can’t cook worth shit,” Lelo told her, “but I sure like to eat.”

“I’ll keep you in reserve. I really want the front done, just the way you’ve drawn it. But I’m going to need another five percent off for the photographs.”

“I can text my dad, see what he has to say. I’m thinking he’ll go for that.”

“And you can tell him if this turns out the way we all want, I should be able to do the rest in the fall. Or next spring. You can’t do the whole front until the Dumpster’s gone, but I’d love to see some of these trees and shrubs in place.”

“Give me a sec.”

When Lelo pulled out his phone, the dogs leaped up and raced down the deck steps.

“That must be Xander,” Kevin noted. “Dogs are a good early-warning system.”

The dogs ran back. Molly settled, but Tag ran away, ran back, all but doing cartwheels until Xander caught up with him.

“Are we having a party?”

“Apparently.”

“Good thing I brought more beer.” He came up with the six-pack he carried, setting it down long enough to grab Naomi’s face and give her a kiss that went from hello to steamy in a heartbeat.

“Just letting them know to get their own woman. Do you want me to top that off?”

She looked down, a little blankly, at her wine. “No, it’s good.”

“Another round?” he asked Kevin.

“No, one’s enough.”

He glanced at Lelo, who wandered the deck as he talked on the phone, and held up his three-quarters-full beer.

“Just me, then.” Xander took the six-pack inside, came back out with a cold one. “What’s all this?”

“My landscape. You didn’t tell me Lelo was an artist.”

“He’s got a knack.” After he sat and blew out a cleansing breath, Xander took the first pull.

“Long day?” Naomi asked.

“And then some. Finished now.”

Lelo wandered back. “We can start next week.”

“Next week?”

“My dad’s going to want to come take a look for himself—mostly to meet you, that’s the truth. He likes knowing who he’s working for, but we can start next week. Probably Tuesday. He’s fine with the five percent more.” Lelo held out a hand. “We have to shake on it. I’d rather kiss you, but Xander’d pitch me over the deck.”

“I’d knock you unconscious first so it wouldn’t hurt so much.”

“That’s a friend.” Lelo sat again, scrubbed Tag’s head, then Molly’s. “You’re going to have to teach him not to dig in your beds or lift his leg on the shrubs.”

“God. I never thought of that.”

“He’s a good dog. He’ll learn.”

Naomi sipped her wine. They were subtle about it—they’d known
each other so long, these men. But she caught the signals passing back and forth.

Like Xander, she let out a breath. “Why don’t we talk about the elephant on the deck? I’m not the tender sort, and don’t need to be shielded. I don’t like it either. So has there been anything more about Marla’s murder?”

Lelo looked down at the beer he dangled between his legs and said nothing.

“They did the autopsy,” Xander said. “And there’s some talk leaking out. It could just be talk.”

“What could be just talk?”

“That she’d been raped, probably multiple times. Choked multiple times, cut up a little, beat on more than a little.”

“I don’t get how somebody could do that to somebody else,” Lelo murmured. “I just don’t. They’re saying she wasn’t killed down below here, just dumped there that way. I heard Chip about went crazy.”

“He loved her,” Kevin said. “He always did.”

“It couldn’t have been anybody from the Cove,” Lelo put in. “We’d know if somebody who could do that lived right here.”

No,
Naomi thought,
you don’t always know what lives with you
.

—

S
he lost herself in work. She rarely worked on an agenda other than her own, and found it interesting to create photos with Krista’s specific wants in mind.

When she talked to or emailed her family, she said nothing of murder.

She didn’t give Xander a key—nor did he ask for one. But she thought about it.

Though it brought on a massive stress headache, she attended Marla’s funeral. She sat through the short service with Xander, with Kevin and Jenny flanking her other side.

It seemed to her nearly everyone in town had come, wearing sober faces, paying respects to Marla’s mother, to Chip.

The church smelled too strongly of lilies—the pink ones draped over the glossy coffin, the pink and white ones rising in sprays from tall baskets.

She hadn’t been inside a church in more than a decade. They reminded her of her childhood, of Sunday dresses stiff with starch, of Wednesdaynight Bible readings.

Of her father standing at the lectern reciting scripture in his deep voice, so much sincerity on his face as he spoke of God’s will, or God’s love, of following a righteous path.

Being inside one now, the sun streaming through the stained glass, the lilies clogging the air, the reverend reading all-too-familiar passages, she wished she’d stayed away. She hadn’t known Marla, had only had a difficult encounter with her.

But she’d found her, so she’d made herself come.

Relief came like a sharp wind through musty memories when she stepped outside into the clear, uncolored sunlight, the clean, unscented air.

Xander steered her away from where most gathered to talk before the drive to the cemetery.

“You went pale.”

“It was so close in there, that’s all.” And too many who’d come snuck glances at her.

At the woman who’d found the body.

“I need to go to the cemetery,” he told her. “You don’t.”

“I don’t think I will. It feels too much like gawking when I didn’t know her.”

“I’ll drive you back, drop you off.”

“I should’ve brought my own car. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s not much of a detour,” he began, then turned as Chip walked up.

The picture of grief, Naomi thought. Red-rimmed, dazed eyes, pale skin bruised under those dazed eyes from lack of sleep. A big man with a hollow look.

“Chip. Sorry, man.”

They exchanged the one-armed hugs men seemed to prefer before Chip looked at Naomi.

“Miss Carson.”

“Naomi. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You found her. The chief said the way they’d . . . how they’d left her, it might’ve been a while before anybody did. But you found her so they could bring her back, take care of her.”

Tears leaked out of those dazed eyes as he took her hand between his massive ones. “Thank you.”

Habitually she avoided touching strangers, getting too close, but compassion overwhelmed her. She drew him to her, held him a moment.

No, killers didn’t think of this—or did they? she wondered. Did pain and grief add to the thrill? Did it season it like salt?

As he drew back, Chip knuckled tears away. “The reverend said how Marla’s gone to a better place.” Chip shook his head. “But this is a good place. It’s a good place. She shouldn’t have to go to a better one.”

He swallowed hard. “Are you coming to the grave site?”

“I am. I’m taking Naomi home, then I’ll be there.”

“Thank you for coming, Naomi. Thank you for finding her.”

As he walked off like a man lost, Naomi turned away.

“Oh God, Xander.”

And she wept for a woman she hadn’t known.

A
s most of the crew had known Marla, Naomi came home to a relatively quiet house. The noise centered, for now, in what would be her studio, and came in the form of country music and a nail gun.

Still, when she tried to work, she couldn’t settle. Whatever images she brought onto her screen, she ended up seeing shattered eyes.

Instead, she took the dog and her camera out front. She’d get those before pictures for Lelo, as simple and routine a task as she could devise. She’d make copies for herself, she thought, maybe put together a book on the evolution of the house.

She could keep it in the library, revisit the process when it would have the charm of distance.

When the dog dropped one of his balls at her feet, she decided to embrace another distraction. She tossed it, watched him joyfully chase after it.

The third time he returned, he spat it out, his ears pricked up, and his gaze shifted with a low, warning growl seconds before she heard the sound of a car.

“Must be the crew coming. Talk about distractions.”

But she saw the chief of police’s cruiser come up the rise.

Everything in her tensed, balled up in tight, cold fists. She’d seen him at the funeral. If there’d been any progress on the investigation, the odds were high she’d have heard something there. In any case, her finding the body didn’t mean he’d feel obliged to tell her anything directly.

There was only one reason he’d come to see her.

To help calm herself, Naomi laid a hand on Tag’s head. “It’s okay. I’ve been expecting him.”

They started across the bumpy, patchy grass as Sam got out of the cruiser.

“The Kobie brothers,” he said, nodded toward the truck.

“Yes. Wade and Bob are upstairs working. The rest of the crew went to the funeral.”

“I just left the cemetery myself. I wanted to have a private word with you before the rest of Kevin’s crew got back.”

“All right.” Her stomach in knots, she turned toward the house. “I don’t have a lot of seating yet, but it’s nice on the deck off the kitchen.”

“I heard you hired the Lelos to do some landscaping.”

“They plan to start on Tuesday.”

“You’re making real progress,” he commented as they stepped inside.

She only nodded, continued back. Progress, she thought, but for what? She should never have let herself fall in love with the house, with the area. She should never have allowed herself to become so involved with the man.

“This is a hell of a nice kitchen.” Hat tipped back, Sam stood, at ease, looking around. “And a view that doesn’t quit.”

When she opened the accordion doors, he shook his head. “Doesn’t that beat all? Did you come up with this, or did Kevin?”

“Kevin.”

“They fold right back out of the way, just open it all up. You couldn’t have a prettier situation here.”

She took one of the spring chairs while Tag poked his nose to Sam’s knee.

“I saw you at the service,” Sam began. “It was good of you to go. I know you didn’t know her, and what you did know wasn’t especially friendly.”

“I’m sorry for what happened to her.”

“We all are.” He shifted, turning from the view so his gaze met hers. “I wouldn’t be doing my job, Naomi, if I hadn’t gotten some background on the person who found her body.”

“No. I should have told you myself. I didn’t. I wanted to believe you wouldn’t look, and no one would know.”

“Is that why you changed your name?”

“It’s my mother’s maiden name, my uncle’s name. He raised us after . . . They took us in, my mother, my brother, and me, after my father was arrested.”

“You were instrumental in that arrest.”

“Yes.”

“That’s about as hard on a young girl as anything could be. I’m not going to ask you about that, Naomi. I know the case, and if I want to know more, it’s easy enough. I’m going to ask you if you’re in contact with your father.”

“No. I haven’t spoken or communicated with him since that night.”

“You never went to see him?”

“No. My mother did, and ended up swallowing a bottle of pills. She loved him, or he had a hold over her. Maybe it’s the same thing.”

“Has he tried to contact you?”

“No.”

For a moment, Sam said nothing. “I’m sorry to add to things, but it must have struck you. The similarities. The binding, the wounds, what was done to her, the way she was killed.”

“Yes. But he’s in prison, on the other side of the country. And the terrible reality is, others rape and kill and torture. Others do what he did.”

“That’s true.”

“But I’m here, and I found her. Like I found Ashley. Only I found Ashley in time. I’m here, and Marla was raped and killed and tortured the way my father liked to rape and kill and torture. So you have to look at me.”

“Even if I did, I know you didn’t take her, or hold her for two days, and do what was done to her. Even if I did, you were with Xander at times you’d have needed to be with her. I’ve known Xander all his life and sure
as hell don’t believe he’d be party to something like this. I don’t believe you would either.”

She should be grateful for that; she should be relieved. Yet she couldn’t find the energy for either.

“But you wondered. When you found out who I was, you had to wonder. Others will, too. And some of them will think, well, Blood tells. It’s blood that ties us together, makes us who we are. Her father’s a psychopath. What does that make her?”

“I won’t tell you I didn’t wonder. That’s part of my job. I wondered for about ten seconds because I’m small town, that’s a fact, but I’m good at my job. I came here to ask you if you’re in contact with your father, or if he’s in contact with you, on the slim possibility what happened here is connected.”

“He didn’t even look at me. That morning, in the police station back in West Virginia, when they brought him in.”

She could still see it, in minute and perfect detail, down to the sun hitting the water in the water fountain, the dust motes in the air.

“I came out of the room where they had me waiting. I just came out for a minute, and they were bringing him in, in handcuffs. And he looked right through me, like I wasn’t there. I think I was never there for him, not really.”

“You’ve moved around a lot in the last few years.”

“I made it part of my job. Our uncles shielded us as much as they could from the press, the talk, the stares, the anger. They uprooted their lives for us. But the shield didn’t always hold. Every few years, he bargains something, some privilege, something, for the location of another body. It brings it all back—the stories on TV, online, the talk. My brother says it’s what he wants more than whatever privilege he’s thought up, and I believe that, too. Moving around means you’re not in one place long enough for anyone to notice you, or not very much.”

“You bought this house.”

“I thought I could get away with it. I just fell for it, and convinced myself that I could have this—a real home, a quiet place—and no one would ever know. If I’d walked another way that day, if someone else had
found Marla, maybe, but I didn’t walk another way. I’ve got no reason to tell anyone about this.”

When she turned her head to meet his eyes again, Sam gave her hand a pat. “It’s yours to tell or not.”

She wanted relief but couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a favor. I got background, that was an official act. I don’t go around gossiping on people’s private business. I needed to ask you the questions I did. Now we can put it away.”

“I . . . I just want to find out if I can live here. I want time to try.”

“It seems to me you’re already living here, and doing it well. I’m going to say something personal now, and then I’m going to go, get back to town. It’s clear to me now you haven’t told Xander any of this.” Sam pushed to his feet. “I’m going to say to you, on a personal level, you’re doing him, and yourself, a disservice. But it’s your story to tell, or not. Take care of yourself, Naomi.”

He walked down the deck steps, left her sitting there staring out at the water, at the white sails of clouds above it, wondering if she’d ever feel again.

—

L
ike twin storms, grief and gossip rumbled through the cemetery and left Xander with a low-grade headache. He slipped away as soon as possible, switched the radio off for the drive back to town. He could do with some quiet.

He had enough work, including what he’d postponed that morning, to keep him fully occupied. He stopped into parts and sales, got a ginger ale from the machine, picked up some parts, then headed over to the garage.

After a check of his worksheet, he opted to take the easy first, ease his way into the delayed workday. Before he walked out to drive the Mini Cooper into the bay for its diagnostic, he swung by to see the progress in the body shop.

He considered himself better than good at bodywork, but Pete was a freaking artist. The wrecked Escort would look showroom fine when Pete finished the job.

“Back from the funeral?”

“Yeah.”

Frowning, Pete adjusted his safety goggles. “Can’t stand funerals.”

“I don’t think anybody likes them.”

“Some do.” Pete nodded wisely. “Some people are fucked-up and get off on them. They hunt them up and go even when they don’t know who’s dead.”

“It takes all kinds,” Xander said, and left Pete to his work.

Once he’d finished with the Mini, keyed in the worksheet on the shop computer, and sent it to sales, he broke long enough to go up to his apartment, make a sandwich with the slim pickings he had available. With the Mini in the pickup area, he moved on to the next on his sheet.

He put in a solid four hours more—ditched the headache, picked up a stiff neck.

Since he’d told Naomi he’d bring dinner, he called in an order for baked spaghetti before going about the business of closing up.

He’d just started to his bike when Maxie from Rinaldo’s pulled in with her flat rear tire bumping.

“Oh, Xander! Please.” She actually gripped her hands together as if in prayer as she jumped out of the car. “I know you’re closed, but please. Something’s wrong with my car, it just started making this noise, and I could hardly steer it.”

“You’ve got a flat, Maxie.”

“I do?” She turned, looked where he pointed. “How did that happen? It didn’t like blow or anything. It just started thumping. I thought it was the engine or something.”

After raking her hand through her purple-streaked blonde hair, she sent him a sheepish smile. “Can you change it?”

He squatted down. “Maxie, this tire’s bald as your grandfather, plus you trashed it by driving on it.”

“I have to get a new one? Can you change it for now, put the spare on?”

“You don’t have a spare, you’ve got a donut—emergency tire—and you can’t drive around on that.” He circled the compact, shook his head.

“Your tires lost any excuse for tread about ten thousand miles ago.”

Her mouth dropped open; her eyes went to shocked moons. “I need
four
new tires?”

“That’s a fact.”

“Crap. Crap. Crap. There goes the money I’ve been saving for a shopping weekend in Seattle with Lisa. And now I’m going to be late for work.”

She tried a quick flirt. “Couldn’t you just, you know, patch the flat one, just for now, and . . . One more crap,” she muttered as he just stared her down. “You’ve got my father’s look on your face.”

That stung a little, as he only had about a dozen years on her. But he didn’t relent.

“You could have a blowout, end up wrecked. I’ll make you the best deal I can, but you’ve got to replace these. I can have them on for you tomorrow, before noon, and I can run you over to work. I’ve got a couple of takeouts waiting anyway. Can you get a ride home?”

Resigned, Maxie blew out a breath. “I can just walk over to Lisa’s, stay there tonight.”

Risking being compared to her father again, Xander shook his head. “No walking alone after closing. Not right now.”

“Everybody thinks whoever killed Marla is long gone. Just some horrible pervert passing through.”

“I’ll make you a deal. You get the tires at my cost, and you make this deal with me. No walking alone after closing.”

“All right, all right. I’ll get my dad to pick me up.” When Xander narrowed his eyes on her face, she rolled hers. “I promise.” She swiped a finger over her heart.

“Okay.” He got the spare helmet, handed it to her. “You break the deal, I charge you double for the tires.”

“Oh, Xander.” But she laughed and got on the bike behind him. “A deal’s a deal, and at least I get a cool ride to work out of it.”

By the time he got to the big house, all he wanted was to sit out on the deck with Naomi, maybe have a beer. And let the entire day shed like dead skin.

By the time he’d unstrapped the takeout, Tag had raced around from the back of the house to greet him as though he’d been off to war.

Appreciating the welcome, he held the food up out of reach with one hand, gave the dog a rub with the other. And when the tennis ball landed at his feet, he gave it a good boot to send Tag joyfully after it.

He noted that Naomi’s car sat alone, and wondered why Kevin hadn’t waited. Even with the delay, he’d expected Kevin to hang tight until he got there.

He walked around the back, stopping long enough to give the ball another kick.

She sat on the deck alone, working on her tablet, with a glass of wine on the little table beside the glider.

“Got hung up,” he said.

She only nodded, kept doing whatever she was doing.

“I’m going to grab a beer, put this in the oven on low.”

“That’s fine.”

He didn’t consider himself particularly sensitive to moods—at least, he’d been told by annoyed women he lacked that insight—but he knew when something was off.

In his experience, the best way to handle things when something was off, and you didn’t know what, was to just keep going until whatever was off popped out.

Sometimes, if luck held, it just went away.

He came back with his beer, sat beside her, shot out his legs. And Jesus, didn’t that feel good?

“Where’s Kev?”

“At home with his wife and kids, I imagine.”