The Unearthed: Book One, The Eddie McCloskey Series (9 page)

“
I
want to come,” Eddie said. “I’ve read his books.”

Again Eddie’s reading habits surprised Tim. “We have to leave in twenty.”

Tim shut Eddie’s door and continued down the hall. He couldn’t understand how a grown man, twenty-eight years of age, still hadn’t mastered the art of an alarm clock.

He made a brief stop in the living room to turn on the local news before moving to the kitchen. In less than a minute, he was cooking eggs on the stove.

He heard Eddie go into the bathroom and shut the door. Then the shower. Tim scrambled the eggs.

“My favorite.”

Tim turned to see Michelle in a t-shirt and gym shorts that had something written across the ass. She had a severe case of bed head, which he found so cute. She kept her eyes squinted and her head lowered.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“Probably like I look.”

“Water?”

“I’ll just take the jug.”

Tim left the eggs and got her a glass of water.

She gulped it down. “How long is he going to be? I have to pee.”

“He’ll be out soon. We need to leave in a few minutes.”

She held the empty glass out to Tim. He took it and poured her another.

“I take it he’s running late, then?”

Tim gave her a look as he handed her the glass.

“Oh, I see. I haven’t been around long enough to make comments like that yet?”

“You know how it is. It’s okay for me to do it but not for others.”

She nodded and gulped down her second glass of water. “I guess I understand.”

“Which means you don’t.”

Tim took the frying pan off the stove and turned off the burner. He dumped the eggs onto two plates, then put the frying pan down. He put a plate in front of Michelle and grabbed some silverware.

“I’m moving too fast for you,” she said.

“You aren’t.” Not as fast as he was about to move.

She grinned sheepishly. “We’ve been dating for three months. We’re a little serious.”

“Very serious.” Serious enough for him to have that ring picked out. He just wanted the timing to be right.

* * * *

Evan Ronan lived on the other side of town, near what had once been Main Street. Downtown had slowly drifted toward the newly developed areas and strip malls.

Eddie liked this part of Town because it reminded him of his early childhood, before the accident. He and Tim used to walk to the candy store after school. The owner had been ancient, bent with age and knuckles bloated. For fifty cents, Eddie used to buy a mixed bag of candy that lasted him a week.

“M’s meeting us there?” Eddie asked. He still held out hope. He’d seen the way she’d interacted with Stan two nights ago. There was an obvious mutual attraction between them. But he still felt like there was something between them.

“Yep,” Tim said.

They passed the quaint little shops and reached the more rural part of Old Main Street. Tim made a right. He drove for half a mile. “This is it.”

“M’s already here,” Eddie said.

Evan Ronan’s house was two stories and looked newer than the Rossellis’. Eddie saw a man out front, next to an extremely large dog on a leash. He was speaking to Moira.

“Famous writer, huh,” Eddie said. In all these years, he’d only seen the guy a handful of times despite how small Town was. “Jesus, that dog’s bigger than fucking Marmaduke.”

They got out of the van and met Evan and Moira on the lawn.

“Evan Ronan,” Evan said, extending his hand. The gigantic dog stayed put and panted, its tongue hanging out of its mouth. It had medium-length, wiry gray hair and a long snout. The dog was as tall as Evan’s hip, and Evan was not short.

“How’s it going?” Tim said.

“Good to see you, Tim.” He nodded at Eddie. “Are you guys half-brothers?”

“Nah, I just got all the pretty genes,” Eddie said.

Tim laughed. “I see you’ve met Moira already.”

“I have.” Evan pointed at the dog. “And this is Boru.”

“Is he friendly?” Eddie asked, keeping his distance.

“Friendlier than you are.” Moira bent over and rubbed the dog’s snout, forehead, between his eyes, and under his jaw. Boru wagged his tail. Eddie discreetly checked out Moira’s ass.

“I’m a little scared of dogs,” Eddie said to Evan. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s okay,” Evan said. “He hasn’t killed anybody in years.”

Evan led them in. They walked through a foyer and into a family room.

A woman and a young girl were in the backyard. Evan waved at them to come inside.

The woman was short and brunette. She had a young face and dimples in her cheeks, though she was probably in her mid to late thirties. Eddie noticed a slight bulge at her waistline that didn’t look like fat.

The young, energetic girl with her was brunette and looked about seven.

Evan said, “This is my wife, Nancy. And this is Miranda.”

The group exchanged hellos.

Miranda walked up to Eddie and said, “Don’t worry. He won’t bite you.” Eddie tried to remove any trace of fear from his face or body language. Boru picked his head up, obviously aware he was being talked about, looked at Moira and Eddie, and then rested his gigantic head on his front paws.

“You sure?” he asked. “That thing could probably kill lions.”

“He’s not a Ridgeback,” Miranda said. “He’s from Ireland, and he used to hunt wolves but he’s a good dog now so he doesn’t hunt wolves anymore. Plus he’s too old to hurt you.”

Everyone laughed, and even Eddie managed a chuckle. “Well, if you say so.”

“Do you want to see my dolls?” she asked.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

* * * *

If only Evan Ronan were five years younger and not married, Moira told herself. She watched Evan plop down on the recliner next to where Boru was lying. He reached and stroked the dog’s side. Boru stretched his legs out and made a funny noise.

“I’m interested to hear what you’ve found,” Evan said.

Moira and Tim sat on the sofa opposite Evan.

Tim said, “Sorry, but we can’t talk about open cases.”

Evan smiled. “I hope you’ll come back when it’s over.”

“Sure thing.”

“If I ever write the damned book, I’d like to document your investigation as well. It adds something to the story.”

Moira knew that Evan was a midlist author with four or five novels to his credit. It would help Tim’s paranormal business if the team appeared in a book by a respected author.

“So I take it you’re having trouble writing the book?” Tim settled back into the sofa.

“As always. Graham Greene I am not. It takes me a few years to write anything.”

Moira smiled, getting the reference.

“Writer’s block?” Tim asked.

“Bad. This time it’s not my fault, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“The story never sat right with me. The whole account of what happened. I watched those police tapes where they were interviewing Eamon—the one that lived—over and over. I never felt the whole story was there.”

Tim hummed. “Let’s start with what you do know.”

“I’ve got the facts, but do the facts ever explain anything?”

Moira smiled at this, catching the reference to Conrad. She loved talking to people who read a lot. It was possible to have an entire conversation in code with them, the open dialog forming the text, the underlying literature forming a subtext.

Evan was saying, “What I never got is the motivations of the players. Dad was a CPA, a workaholic, and a mean drunk, apparently. He put a lot of emphasis on doing well in school, at practical things. Forget the arts. He married a flighty woman ten years his junior. They had kids right away.

“The older brother was William. The younger, Eamon. From everything that happened, it looks like there was a strange dynamic in the family. Mom favored William. William bullied Eamon. Dad didn’t seem to much like anyone. Mom was having an affair.”

“Do you know with who?” Tim asked.             

“No.” Evan smiled. “And if I did, he’d ask to remain anonymous.”

“I don’t blame him.”

Evan continued, “Siobhan was an aspiring artist. She was a bit flaky, probably a borderline alcoholic to boot. She couldn’t bring any money in, so Dad took it upon himself to work extra hard to take care of the family and provide. She took art classes and volunteered at the local art gallery.

“William took after his mother. He was the artistic one. I have copies of some of his drawings. He was well-built and tall for his age. I think he took art more seriously than he did his studies, which irked Dad. William did poorly in school and caused trouble. He got into a few fights, was kicked out of school for a month for bringing a knife in one time, you get the idea.

“Dad is pissed. Here he is working his ass off, taking years off his life with sixty-hour work weeks, and his sons are screwing around in school while Mom is taking art classes and drinking her lunch out of a bottle. He comes up with the brilliant idea to home-school his children, despite his wife’s complete lack of any teaching experience. Does that make sense to anybody?”

Moira and Tim were both taking notes again.

“Eamon did not have his older brother’s artistic talents. He tried to draw, and it’s weird because he tried to draw some of the same things as his brother—”

“Like what?” Tim asked.

“Houses. Most of William’s drawings were of houses.”

Interesting. Tim had said something about Billy Rosselli drawing houses over and over. Moira inched forward in her seat.

“William was his mother’s favorite. Siobhan was constantly telling Eamon he should be more like his brother. That had to hurt like hell,” Evan said.

Tim nodded.

“So here’s Eamon. He has no relationship with Dad, spends all his time with a bully of an older brother and a mother who can’t be bothered with him.

“Eamon told the police that William frequently beat him up. But the police file indicates no residual bruising or scarring when doctors examined him after the massacre.. So William hadn’t touched Eamon for at least a few days, maybe longer, before everything went down.”

Nancy returned to the room. She beamed at Evan, who smiled back. Moira could tell they were deeply in love, very at ease with each other.

“Am I allowed to listen in?” Nancy asked.

“You’ll have to clear that with them.” Evan pointed at Tim and Moira.

“Please,” Tim said.

Nancy sat on the recliner across from the sofa. She put her feet up and crossed them.

“My wife can probably help here.”

Tim looked at her.

“I work with teen-aged girls,” Nancy said.

“Her advice will cost you extra.” Evan laughed. “So, here’s what I think happened … Dad has another long day at work, grabs a few drinks with a friend on his way home. When he gets home, something sets him off. He hits Mom. William tries to intervene.

“The forensic team thinks William grabbed the knife first, tried to attack Dad. Dad has defensive wounds on his forearms. The fight between Dad and William starts in the kitchen but goes into the dining room. Dad is able to disarm William and tries to attack him. Now Mom intervenes. She is grabbing at Dad’s arms, trying to hold him back so William can run away. But William doesn’t. For thirteen years old, the kid has got balls.

“Dad throws Mom away from him. Her head hits the dining table. She probably loses consciousness.

“Meantime, William is coming after Dad. He makes a grab for the knife, or puts his right hand up to defend himself. There is trauma on the hand suggestive of either one of the two scenarios.

“There’s a struggle for the knife. Dad gains control and sticks it into William’s midsection. He pulls it out and stabs him several times.

“Mom regains consciousness but she’s suffered serious head trauma. She tries to crawl into the kitchen, to get away from Dad. Forensics was able to verify that Dad grabs her, probably by an ankle, and drags her out of the kitchen back into the living room. He plunges the knife into her.

“William surprises Dad from behind. He’s on death’s doorstep but finds the strength to get another knife out of the kitchen. One of the last acts of his life is to slash his father’s throat. Dad dies where he falls, half on top of Mom. Their blood collects in a puddle near the kitchen threshold, in the dining room.

“This is conjecture but it lines up with the evidence.”

Evan finished and sat back.

Moira said, “Where was Eamon the whole time?”

Evan said, “According to him, he was in the family room on the sofa, watching all of this happen.”

“What?” Tim asked.

Nancy chimed in. “There’s little to no chance of that happening. That kid would have either joined in or ran away. He was in no imminent danger.”