White Lies (22 page)

An old philosophical question came to mind. You're in a room with a gun, five old people, and a child. Someone tells you if you shoot and kill the old fogies, the kid lives. You kill the kid, the fogies live. So which is it? Red or black, all or nothing? Obviously both choices are abhorrent. The point is, you have to choose. And more, you have to choose between the lesser of two evils. Likewise, if Jack had purposely and maliciously killed old man Charlie, or if he had murdered the red-haired man, she would have notified the authorities the first chance she got. But Charlie's death had not been viciously planned and acted out—it had been an accident— and the Good Samaritan, while likely scared senseless and worried sick for his family, had not been harmed. Jack, it could be argued then, was only guilty of manslaughter in the second degree and of being one scary asshole.

Like he told her, however, his past made his predicament much more complicated than that, and a judge or jury would probably not be so sympathetic. Especially after he tried to cover up the murder. So if she turned him in, she would be responsible for condemning him to a long time behind bars. And he was not meant to be caged. Nobody was, but him especially. He had too much zest for life, too much of that electric something that distinguished a stallion in the wild from a domesticated, gelded one. In a sense, she would be sentencing him to a slow and painful death. And she had already watched one man she loved go that route. She could not in good conscience let that happen again—especially not when all she had to do was keep her mouth shut.

The lesser of two evils
.

A place called ‘59er Diner rolled past on the left side of the road. There were a few cars parked out front, even at this late hour. Jack slowed to make the turn onto State Route 207, toward Lake
Wenatchee State Park. Katrina frowned, wondering where he was leading her. She hadn't thought about that yet. She'd assumed he would be going to the red-haired man's home to drop off the Buick. But up 207? Did the man not live in a nearby town, but in the forest? With his family? Unlikely. Was Jack not going to the man's home then? Was he returning to the cabin? That would be crazy. She wished she had brought her cell phone so she could call him up and ask what the hell he was thinking. But her phone was in her handbag, back in the cabin, in the laundry room.

They continued north for three miles until they reached Wenatchee River, which they crossed. Jack took the back road toward Charlie's cabin. She could recall the way well, even in the dark. Everything about this evening, every detail, would likely be ingrained on her brain for years to come. Jack made a right turn down a narrow road with a “Road Closed” sign nailed to a tree. He stopped in a small clearing. She parked next to him and got out. The area offered a clear view of the moon-dappled lake. She figured this was a lot someone had purchased and cleared with plans to build on it.

“I thought you were taking us back to the cabin,” she said.

He nodded at the Buick. “Not with that.”

“How did you know about this place? Why are we here?”

“I saw it earlier when we came in. And to answer your second question—we're leaving the Buick here until tomorrow. I'll come back and drive it to our red-haired friend's house then.”

“What if he decides to tell someone? What if, once he gets his car back, he goes to the police?”

“He won't.”

“How can you be so sure? Nobody keeps secrets forever. Especially secrets like this one.”

“They do if they're smart. Think about it. A big crazy son of a bitch threatens to hurt him and his family if he ever says a word of what he saw tonight—an old man dead in his car, an old man he doesn't even know. Would you risk your family over that?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Katrina,” Jack said, resting his hands on her shoulders, “you
know I would never touch his family. It was a threat, to keep him quiet. That's all. You believe that, don't you?”

With his strong jaw set and engine fluid marking his face like war paint, his bare chest chiseled and tattooed, he looked almost savage. But his eyes sketched a different picture entirely. All she could see in them was understanding and concern for her. As if reading her thoughts, he smiled, a slight lifting of the corners of his lips.

“Yes, Jack,” she said wearily. “I do.”

“I couldn't have done this without you. You know that, don't you?”

She nodded.

“Thank you.”

Katrina was about to respond but found she didn't have anything to say, or didn't want to say anything. She'd been through too much. She was overwhelmed. She was angry and mixed up and scared. She simply didn't want to talk anymore. Tears came instead.

When Jack pulled her close, she leaned into his strong embrace.

It was 10:47 p.m. when they finally returned to the cabin. They parked a fair way down the road so no one would see or hear them pull up and walked the rest of the way. Jack was once more wearing his white T-shirt. They'd washed it in the lake where they'd left the Buick, and now it was damp-dry and faintly smelly. He was holding Katrina's hand. The light from the cabin's porch shone through the fence of trees. “I Want It All” by Queen was playing, and Katrina thought back to when her sister had called on Wednesday to say she wanted to visit. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

Someone screamed, then laughed. More ruckus followed.

Old Charlie would be rolling over in his grave, Katrina thought. If he had one.

They passed the school bus, which was idling, getting ready to leave. The driver, Lance, spotted them and honked the horn.

“You're back!” Monica said. She was sitting on the porch steps, a beer beside her.

Suddenly Jack and Katrina were the center of attention, everyone coming out of the cabin or off the bus, asking questions, making jokes.

“We just went for a walk,” Jack said. “Sorry to hold up the caravan.”

“Sure you did,” Monica said with a smirk.

“You know there's a bedroom upstairs,” Graham added.

It was just as Jack had said, Katrina realized. No one suspected a thing. The knot in her stomach loosened. She began to breathe a little easier.

“Well, thank you all for coming,” Katrina said, wanting to change the topic. “It was a lovely time.” The falseness of that last statement made her almost laugh out loud.

“Hey, listen,” Monica said. “I assume you and Jack are staying the night. We cleaned up most of the stuff inside already, but you're still going to need to clean up in the morning. When it's light again. Give a final dusting or whatever. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Katrina replied, wondering where Monica's rambling was going.

“Well, would you mind if a few of us stayed as well? I know Bob and Steve are still down on the dock fishing. And I'm not really ready to pack it in yet. What do you say? We won't be loud. Have a drink with us. It will be fun. So?”

Katrina would have preferred for everyone to have gotten on the bus right then—herself included—so she could put this ghastly night behind her. But she couldn't do that. Monica was right. She and Jack would have to clean up in the morning. So she supposed it wouldn't hurt to have a few others stay as well. It would seem suspicious to say no. Besides, it would also give her and Jack an alibi for the remainder of the night, if it ever came to them needing such a thing.

“Okay, sure,” she said.

Monica squawked happily. Then all the teachers who were leaving began saying their goodbyes, telling Katrina she should have another party real soon.
Yeah, right
, she thought. Maybe when cows fly and frogs sing and hell freezes over, defrosts, and freezes again. Maybe then, but not likely. Once the bus was loaded and the doors hissed closed, Jack, who was standing next to her, gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She cupped her hand over his.
My partner in sin
. With another honk of the horn and a billow of smoke, Lance maneuvered the bus around, got it facing the right way, then chugged down the dirt road, branches slapping at the bus's high roof.

“Where's Crystal?” Katrina asked the remaining small group.

“With Zach,” Graham said.

Katrina thought he was joking and told him so.

“Alonzo saw them earlier,” Monica explained. “They came by the cabin for a minute. Got some drinks. He said they looked pretty comfortable together, whatever that means. Then they disappeared again. No one has seen them all night. Strange, you know. Like, where would they go?”

“I thought she would have had better taste than that dude,” Graham said.

“Ha!” Monica said. “Like
you
, you mean?”

Katrina frowned. “So nobody knows where they are?”

“Probably in the bushes. Seems to be the place of choice for tonight.”

“Do you want to go look for them?” Jack asked her.

Katrina couldn't believe Crystal had gone off with Zach, especially after she'd warned her to stay away from him. But after all she'd just been through, she couldn't get worked up over it. “No,” she said. “Let them be. Right now I wouldn't mind a drink.” She and Jack excused themselves and went to the kitchen, where Jack poured them both brandy on the rocks.

“You were right,” she said. “About no one—”

He held up a finger to his lips. “Not now. Later.”

When they returned outside, Zach and Crystal were strolling up to the porch. Guilty-aloof expressions were stamped on their faces, like they knew they'd been doing something they weren't supposed to be doing but didn't give a damn. Maybe they were even a little proud of it too.

“Get some action, Zachy-boy?” Graham said, tipping back his beer.

“That's my sister, Graham,” Katrina told him sternly. “Watch what you say.”

“We were just down at the dock,” Crystal explained. “It's really nice. You can see all the stars.”

Katrina said, “You can see all the stars from here.”

Graham laughed.

“Christ, Graham, you're obnoxious,” Katrina snapped. Her words were met with stunned silence. She quickly added, “I didn't mean that. It's just that I … I have a bad headache.”

“I apologize about what happened earlier,” Jack said to Zach. “No hard feelings, right?”

Zach looked at him, then looked away.

“Who came by a little while ago?” Crystal asked.

“Nobody,” Jack said.

“We saw a car drive past.” She turned to Zach. “It was a pickup truck, wasn't it?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “I don't know.”

“Sure you do,” Crystal pressed. “You followed it.”

“No I didn't. I told you. I went to take a leak.”

Crystal looked at Katrina expectantly.

“We didn't see any truck.”

“What mushrooms are you eating, man?” Graham said. “You told me a friend of Jack's stopped by.”

Katrina had forgotten Graham had mentioned the truck earlier, while she'd been looking for a shirt for Jack to wear. Her mind reeled for an explanation.

“Don't worry, you can tell them,” Jack said, intervening. “It was someone I'm doing a project with. I needed to sign some papers. I told him to swing by so he could mail them off first thing Monday morning. I asked Katrina to keep a lid on it because I hate guys who mix work with pleasure. Hope no one's too offended.”

“So that was
you
who left with him,” Crystal said. She turned to Zach again. “I told you it was his car.”

“You left?” Monica said. “Where did you go?”

“Zipped back to Leavenworth.” Jack said it nonchalantly, but Katrina knew he must be furious their story was being picked apart at the seams. “We had to get some documents my pal forgot.”

“Did you go too?” Zach asked Katrina.

“Yes,” she said, hoping it was the right answer. It probably would have sounded more plausible had she said she'd stayed behind. But she was too worried about saying something more that could be contradicted.

“That's a pimp ride you have,” Graham told Jack. He searched the parking area. “Where is it? The 911?”

“Down the road a little.”

“Why—”

“I'm going to the dock,” Katrina cut in. “See how Bob and Steve are doing.” Her throat was cotton dry, her heart fluttering. She and Jack needed to get out of there. Right away. They'd just dodged a number of bullets, but they wouldn't be able to keep it up for much longer.

She set her drink on the porch railing and took Jack's hand. They crossed the road and wound their way down the shrub-bordered dirt path, which was dotted with the occasional piece of flagstone. She stopped between a massive western white pine and a blue elderberry, the berries purple and ripened and looking like bunches of tiny grapes. She checked behind them to make sure no one had followed their lead. No one had.

“Damn your sister,” Jack whispered.

“She didn't know,” Katrina said.

“Our story has gone out the window.”

“You said we wouldn't be suspects.”

“We won't. But it was nice to know we had something to go on if it came to that. Now it's full of holes and loose ends.”

Down at the dock Katrina could hear Bob telling some tale, his voice echoing out over the water, though he was too far away for her to make out what he was saying. Steve was laughing loudly.

“What do you think about Zach?” Jack continued.

Katrina frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Do you think he saw anything?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Your sister said he followed the truck.”

“He said he went to relieve himself.”

“And who do you believe?”

Katrina didn't reply. She tried to think of whether it was possible Zach could have followed the truck back to the cottage and watched Jack hit the old man. There was a chance. But it was unlikely. Why would he have cared about a passing vehicle? Especially if he had been off somewhere making out with Crystal? Still, the
fact he might have seen something chilled her more than the lakefront wind. She made a mental note to ask Crystal exactly what had happened when she got her alone tomorrow.