White Lies (24 page)

“I have no idea. Wait! That's not true. I just remembered something.”

“What is it?” Katrina turned farther in her seat, so she could watch her sister closely.

“Umm. I might have let it slip that the cabin wasn't really yours.”

“
What
?” Katrina said, incredulous. “To Zach? What did you say?”

“I'm not sure. I can't remember everything. I was drinking.”

“Try to remember, Chris.”

“I don't know! He was talking about the cabin like it was mine. I told him it wasn't. He said yeah, yeah, your sister's place, and I started to say it wasn't yours either. I tried to stop myself, but it was too late.”

Katrina noticed Jack clench his jaw tight. “So he might have wanted to find out what was going on?” he asked.

“Maybe. Who cares? What's the big deal?”

“How long was he gone?” Jack demanded.

“Not long, I don't think. Like a couple of minutes, maybe.”

Katrina realized this was turning into an interrogation, but she didn't care. The implications of Crystal's revelation were staggering. If Zach had seen Jack murder the old man, well, he was
Zach
. The only person he likely despised more than Katrina herself was
Jack. He wasn't going to keep quiet, not in a million years. He was going to sing like a canary on a world tour, and he was going to do it with a big smile on his face.

Had he already? Would the police be waiting for her back at her house
?

Katrina and Jack exchanged glances. She saw skepticism in his eyes, and that's probably what he saw in hers. She asked, “What did he say when he returned?”

Crystal shook her head. “Nothing. He didn't say anything.” Her voice became petulant. “Are you guys going to tell me what the big deal is? You're acting really weird, you know that?”

“Someone keyed my friend's truck,” Jack told her smoothly.

Katrina studied Jack for a moment, torn between admiration and apprehension by how easily he could tell a lie. On the one hand, she was very happy he was on her side. All she seemed to be doing when she opened her mouth was digging holes, while every time he opened his, he was getting them out of those holes. Yet at the same time she knew nobody should be so good at telling lies. It was like being good at being bad, and it made her wonder if he had told her any lies. About his past? About old Charlie? About the Good Samaritan?

“Oh my God!” Crystal exclaimed. “You gotta be kidding?”

“All along the driver's door,” Jack said. “We don't know who did it.”

“Why would Zach do anything like that?”

“He's not exactly my best friend. Not after I showed him the door.”

“Why wouldn't he just scratch your car then?”

“I'm not saying it was Zach. I just want to rule him out.”

“Well, he didn't do it,” Crystal said matter-of-factly.

Jack didn't press any more. Katrina didn't either. Crystal was a dead end; she knew nothing more helpful. To lighten the mood, Katrina changed the topic to what Crystal had planned the following week at school, and they continued on that track until they pulled up to the Kwik Stop on the corner of Highway 2 and Icicle Road at the western edge of Leavenworth. Crystal went inside the service station to check the Greyhound bus schedule and returned
a minute later to inform them a bus would be arriving in forty minutes. Katrina offered to wait with her, but she said she had a book to read and would be fine by herself. So they hugged, said it was good to see each other again, and promised to catch up again soon.

As Jack pulled back onto Highway 2, Katrina said, “Are we going to my place?”

“You have somewhere else in mind?”

“No, but what if Zach already called the police? What if they're at my house, waiting?”

“They won't be.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he hasn't told them anything—yet.”

“But how can you know?”

“If he had, he would have done it last night. The cops would have come up to Charlie's cabin right away to investigate. We're talking about a dead body here. The fact they didn't means he never called them.”

The python that had been tightening around Katrina for most of the trip slithered away. “God, I was so worried. So that means Zach didn't see anything?”

“Maybe,” Jack said. “I really don't know. But I'm going to find out.”

She frowned. “What do you mean? You can't just go up and ask him whether he saw you kill someone. That's ridiculous.”

“That's exactly what I'm going to do.” He made a left onto Ski Hill Drive.

“But what if he didn't see anything?”

“What if he did?”

“Then he would have called the police by now, right? Or he would have at least said something to one of us. You saw him last night. He certainly didn't act like he saw something.”

“I told you I got a bad vibe from him.”

“And I told you he had good reason to be uncomfortable around you.”

“Because I kicked him out of the party? Or because he saw me hit Charlie?”

“No, Jack.” She was shaking her head. “I'm going to see him tomorrow at school. I'll be able to read him. Let me deal with it.”

“Dammit, Katrina. He might be considering calling the police right now. I'm not waiting around for a day to see what he decides to do. Now listen.” He swung left onto Wheeler Street. “After I drop you off, I'm going to drive over to his place and have a little chat with him. A friendly chat. I won't come right out and say anything incriminating. But I want to feel things out. I should be able to tell whether he knows anything or not.”

Jack pulled up to her long driveway. No police cars waiting out front with their gumballs flashing. Katrina released the breath she'd been holding, but she didn't get out of the car.

“How are you going to explain an unannounced visit to his house?” she asked. “You don't think that will look suspicious?”

“I'll tell him I want to apologize.”

Katrina hesitated, thinking it through. She said, “Okay, fine. But I'm coming too.”

“Out of the question,” Jack said immediately. “You'll make him nervous.”

“I'll make him nervous? You're the one he's scared of.”

“It will be strange, the two of us going there.”

“No stranger than you showing up alone.”

“I'm not arguing this, Katrina. And we're wasting time.”

Katrina shook her head angrily. Trying to change Jack's mind, she'd found out through trial by fire over the past fifteen or so hours, was about as easy as moving a mountain with a shovel. “Fine,” she snapped. “Do what you want. You'll do it anyway.” She was halfway out for the car when she had a terrible thought. “Jack,” she said, looking through the open door, “you're only going to talk to him, right?”

“Jesus Christ, Katrina. What do you think I'm going to do? Break his knees?”

She didn't know. Break his knees? Or something worse? “Promise me you're only going to talk to him.”

Jack scowled. “I promise I'm not going to kill him. You satisfied?”

“That you won't touch him.”

“I'm not going to lay a hand on his fucking precious body, okay?”

Katrina flinched at the acid in his words.

“Sorry,” he said, his face softening. “But I need to go, get this sorted out.”

Katrina closed the door and stepped to the curb. Jack wheeled the Porsche around in a tight U-turn, then roared off down the street. Long after he'd disappeared from sight, she remained where she stood, arms folded across her chest, trying to make herself believe his promise.

Zach was sitting on the sofa in the basement he was renting, sipping from a bottle of Glenfiddich despite it only being noon, when there was a knock at the door. He frowned. Nobody ever came by his place. He waited. Sure enough, another rat-tat-tat. Loud and sharp, like whomever was knocking was wearing a ring, and that's what was doing the knocking. His landlady? He wasn't behind on any bills.

More knocking. No ring finger this time. A fist.

Zach's frown deepened. Maybe it was those Jehovah's Witnesses. They'd come around last week, a jolly looking old lady and a skinny girl dressed like Punky Brewster, both grinning at him like Armageddon was right around the corner and only they knew how to be saved. They read him some crazy passage from the Bible and asked him if he believed it. He asked them if they believed in Smurfs, then promptly swung the door shut.

Wham-BAM
.

Zach started. That definitely did not sound like a meek, God-fearing knock. Curiosity peaked, he went up the stairs, knowing he shouldn't be answering the door but answering it anyway, like the guy in a horror movie who has to see what that thump was coming from his closet even though there was blood splattered all over his bedroom. He pushed aside the curtain that covered the window in the door and was shocked to discover Jack the Indian standing there. A wild impulse to lock the door and return downstairs swept through him. But he got ahold of himself and opened the door, trying to manage an air of nonchalance. He even leaned casually against the doorframe. “Yeah?” he said, just as cool as James
Dean before his Porsche slammed into the oncoming Ford Custom Tudor.

“Hiya, Zach,” Jack said, flashing a big Cheshire grin. “How you doing, champ?”

“What do you want?”

Jack's smile stayed in place, but his black eyes were unreadable. Zach felt like they were peeling away his false bluster layer by layer until they had a good look at the truth inside—a kid who was scared senseless and way, way out of his league. “I think we need to have ourselves a little talk,” he said. “Just you and me.”

Zach's worst fear was immediately confirmed. Somehow Jack knew he had seen him murder the old man. In which case opening the door had been a very big mistake.

“It won't take long,” Jack added, and stepped inside.

Zach was forced to retreat backward. There wasn't much room to maneuver on the small landing, and he stumbled down the stairs, almost falling on his ass.

“Why are you so jumpy, Zach?” Jack said, staring down at him. “What's the matter? Do I make you nervous?”

“This is trespassing.”

Jack closed the door behind him. He turned the deadbolt, which made a solid click as it slid home. He came down the stairs, still smiling, like he was having a good old time. “Trespassing, you say? Really? I thought you said come in.”

Zach backed up across the basement, putting the sofa between himself and Jack. “Do you want something to drink?” he said. “Tea? Orange juice?”

“Shut up, Zach.”

“Why are you here?”

“Like I said. Just to talk.” He stopped on the other side of the sofa so there was about three feet separating the two of them. He nodded to one of the armchairs. “Take a seat, why don't you?”

“I'd prefer not to.”

“
Sit down, Zach
.” His voice was steel. Zach sat in the chair farthest from Jack. “That's a good boy. I think you're catching on. When I say something, you listen. Now, we're going to have that
talk, you and me, and you're going to answer some questions truthfully. Got that?”

Zach nodded mutely. Jack watched him for a moment, drilling him again with those black eyes. He nodded to himself and strolled a circle around the room, as if he was taking a leisurely walk in the park. Eventually he stopped in front of a framed photograph of Zach's parents that was sitting on a shelf screwed into the wall. He picked it up and examined it thoughtfully. Zach glanced at the stairs, wondering what his chances were of getting up them and out the door before Jack got him. Slim, he knew. Especially with the deadbolt in place. Still, he seriously considered trying. Because Jack was a goddamn crazy murderer—a crazy murderer who was now standing in his home, looking at a picture of his parents.

Zach stood up. Not to run. He wouldn't make it, he'd decided. But because he couldn't sit any longer. The suspense was killing him.

“Sit your ass back down,” Jack growled at him.

“Get the hell out of my house.”

Jack laughed, pleased, like a hunter who'd realized his prey might put up a fight after all. Still holding the picture, he came over to Zach, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and pulled him close, so their faces were inches apart. “I can break you in half,” he said softly, threateningly. “Remember that, champ.” He shoved Zach backward, so he collapsed into the chair.

“A friend of mine is coming by in a couple of minutes,” Zach bluffed.

“I was under the impression you didn't have any friends.”

“His name is Robert. He lives down the road.”

“You know,” Jack said, clearly unfazed, “originally I came by to apologize to you.”

Zach frowned, wondering if that could be true. He quickly dismissed it as wishful thinking. Jack apologizing to him was about as likely as a hungry shark passing up an easy meal. “Apology accepted,” he said, regardless.

“No, my friend,” Jack said, shaking his head. “I'm afraid it's no longer quite so simple as that.”

“Why not?”

“Because the situation has changed.”

“How?”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

Zach did his best to look clueless.

“Don't bullshit me, Zach. I'm good at sniffing out bullshit. Real good. And you stink of it.”

“I seriously don't know what you're talking about.”

“I saw the look on your face when you opened the door. You were scared. Why's that, Zach? What reason do you have to be scared of me?”

“Because you're crazy, and you tried to beat me up last night.”

“Good try, Zach, but no. If I had wanted to beat you up last night, you wouldn't be standing today. You wouldn't even be sitting. You'd be lying in a hospital bed begging the doctor for more morphine because you hurt so bad. So that's not the real reason. We both know that.” He glanced at the picture in his hand, hefted it, as if testing the weight of the silver frame, then sat down in the armchair opposite Zach's. He even folded his goddamn legs, like he was in a private room in an upscale club about to light up a cigar. “Let's talk about Katrina's sister Crystal, why don't we? I'm still not clear on what she meant when she said you followed my friend's pickup back to the cabin. Would you care to elaborate for me?”