Spackled and Spooked

11

It was a terrifying moment, pushing the brake pedal all the way to the floor of the truck and getting no response. If anything, the car went faster; picking up speed as it accelerated down the hill.

I had maybe a second to decide what to do, and that’s not much time. If I continued straight ahead, I wasn’t certain I’d be able to make the turn at the gates. The truck was a monster, and if something was wrong with the brakes, the power steering might be kaput, too. There was a chance, a good chance, that I’d get to the bottom of the hill and smash straight into those impressively laid bricks. If I did, I might survive, but it was by no means a sure thing. The truck had airbags, yes, but I doubted they were tested for a frontal collision with approximately a ton of bricks and mortar at high speed. There was also the chance that I’d lose control of the car before I reached the bottom of the hill, and careen over into the other lane and hit the school bus. That would be even worse. The third option was to get off the road now, before anything bad could happen. Or anything too bad. (Option four, which was to open the door and jump out into the middle of the road, I discarded. If the fall didn’t kill me, the school bus would.) So I did the only thing I could think of and started looking for a likely spot to turn the car off the road. Somewhere where the ditch wasn’t as deep as it was in other places. Somewhere where I might actually survive the accident I caused.

Fleetingly, Derek crossed my mind. Not because my life was flashing in front of my eyes-I was too busy keeping my eyes peeled to see anything but the ditch to my right-but because we’d discussed my driving the truck only yesterday. I could hear his voice saying, “It’s just a truck.” And then I could hear him say, “If you drive it off the road, you’ll have to walk here from Waterfield every morning.”

Dammit, I thought as I wrenched the wheel to the right with all the strength I could muster, here we go; if I survive this, I’ll have to hitchhike from now on!

The tires bumped over the gravel shoulder, then the truck dipped, nose first, into the ditch. The impact was horrific: from sixty to a dead stop in a matter of a second. The front end of the truck buried itself in loose dirt and mud. I fell forward with a shriek, held up by the seat belt stretched across my chest.

Blessed silence fell, mingled with my own painful breaths. After a few seconds, I fumbled the key around in the ignition and shut the engine off.

Behind me on the road, I heard the sound of squealing brakes and then rapid footsteps thudding across the blacktop. A round face, eyes enormous and mouth open in a horrified circle, appeared in my window.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Are you OK? Oh, my God!”

It was the school bus driver, a middle-aged woman in jeans and a red sweatshirt, her brown hair standing out around her pale face. She wrenched at my door, yanking it open. I cleared my throat, painfully.

“I think so. Thanks.”

“And your airbag didn’t even go off!” She reached for the latch to unhook the seat belt that held me suspended but seemed to rethink. “Looks like there are some people coming from the construction site. If you can wait a minute until they get here, we’ll get you out. That way you won’t fall forward when I release the belt. You sure you’re OK? Nothing broken?”

I shook my head. My neck protested. Loudly. Whip-lash, probably. “I don’t think so. I can move my legs and my arms, and nothing hurts too badly. Everything seems to work.”

While I was talking, my mind was skittering around what she’d just said. No, the airbag hadn’t deployed. It should have. So not only had the brakes malfunctioned, but the airbag, too.

After a minute, one that felt a whole lot longer than sixty seconds, a handful of workers from the construction site hoofed it up to us, out of breath and wide-eyed. With their help, my Good Samaritan was able to get me out of the car and onto the shoulder of the road, where I sat breathing in great gulps of air and shivering from delayed reaction. My neck and head hurt like hell, and I’d probably have severe bruising across my shoulder and chest, all the way down to my hip, where the seat belt had practically cut me in half. Thank God for it, though; if I’d hit the windshield at sixty miles per hour, I’d be dead at worst, and at best, I’d have a broken nose and possibly a lot of scarring, if the window had broken and cut me.

A truck pulled up on the shoulder behind me, one of the black Stenham Construction vehicles, and someone got out and ran toward me, high-heeled shoes clicking. I squinted into the sun. Blonde, elegant, lovely…

“Avery!” She squatted in front of me.

“Hi, Melissa,” I managed between chattering teeth. Beyond her, I could see one of my cousins-probably Ray-getting out of the driver’s side of the truck, more slowly. Raymond and Randall are identical twins, and I don’t know them well enough to tell them apart, but since this guy was with Melissa, he was most likely her boyfriend-Ray.

“Were you alone?” Melissa asked, redirecting my attention to herself again. “Was Derek in the car with you?”

“It was just me. He’s at the house already.” And boy was he going to be pissed when he heard what had happened to his truck! I should call him-he needed to know what had happened-he had a right to know what had happened, to me and his truck-but I could just imagine his reaction…

“Do you need to go to the emergency room? See Ben?”

Her use of Derek’s father’s first name was a little jarring, but of course he’d been her father-in-law for five years; I guess I couldn’t really blame her. Calling him Doctor Ellis after being his daughter-in-law would have been even weirder. It didn’t keep me from feeling just a little put out, though.

“I just want to see Derek,” I said. “He’ll be able to tell me if I need x-rays or bandaging.”

Melissa nodded, her shining cap of pale hair swinging. “I’ll drive you. One of the guys will get a chain and pull the truck out. Everyone’s cars are getting stuck in the dirt around here; they’re used to it. Ray…” She turned to her boyfriend, who nodded.

“Thank you,” I said. “It can’t be driven, though. The brakes don’t work.”

A couple of the other men arched their brows at this and came a little closer, listening. I noticed Lionel Kenefick’s freckled face among them. He wasn’t looking at me, but at the car, so I didn’t go out of my way to say hello to him.

“What happened?” Ray asked. I shrugged, grimacing at the resultant pain.

“No idea.” I’d used the brakes earlier, on my way through town, stopping at red lights and slowing down to let pedestrians cross in front of me. They’d been fine then. A little slow to respond, maybe, but not so much that I’d worried that something was wrong. It wasn’t until I’d gotten out of town and had put on some speed that they’d malfunctioned. If I were the suspicious sort, I’d worry about that.

“We can have it towed somewhere,” Melissa suggested. I nodded.

“That might be best. Although I’m not sure…”

“Derek uses the auto shop on Broad Street,” Melissa said helpfully. “The owner is an old friend from high school.”

Ray and I shared an unwanted moment of kinship as our eyes met, both of us equally unhappy with Melissa’s ready knowledge of the details of Derek’s life.

“I guess you’d know,” I said after a second. Melissa looked stricken.

“Oh, Avery, I didn’t mean…!”

“Of course not.” My voice was as lacking in sincerity as hers had been. I got to my feet, slowly. “If it’s not out of your way, I’d appreciate a ride out to Becklea. It’s just down the road apiece, and then right.”

Nothing more was said as I made my way over to the Stenham Construction truck parked on the shoulder of the road and climbed in. Melissa and Ray conferred for a minute, their conversation too low for me to hear, before Melissa put her hand on Ray’s muscular arm for a moment and then came toward me. He pulled out his phone.

“Ray will take care of having the car towed to Cortino’s on Broad,” she said, when she had cranked the engine over and the truck was rolling down the hill-at a much more sedate clip than I’d been going just a few minutes ago.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. He’s calling Derek, too. I’m sure you’re not looking forward to that.”

I grimaced. Couldn’t deny that, unfortunately. And damn her for realizing it.

“You know, Avery,” she glanced over at me, her eyes a vivid violet under mascaraed lashes, “I’m happy that you and Derek have found each other.”

“I’m sure,” I said, not bothering to sound like I meant it.

She smiled. “I don’t blame you for disliking me. After all, Derek and I were married for a long time. And he was quite depressed after we broke up, poor baby. Didn’t go on another date for years.”

I opened my mouth to say that Derek and Kate had dated for a while not too long after Melissa had dumped him, and she added, “Oh, I know he and Kate went out a few times, but really… Derek and Kate?”

She rolled those expressive eyes.

“I think they’re kind of cute,” I said, a little defensively. They were usually squabbling like children, so the word seemed appropriate.

“Yes,” Melissa said, “well… exactly.”

I shrugged and grimaced.

“My point,” Melissa said with rather strained patience, obviously determined to make it, whether I wanted to hear it or not, “is that I’m happy for you. He’s a sweet guy. You’re lucky.”

It sounded more like she was saying that I was lucky he’d chosen me. Which I was, although I rather resented the implication that he’d had to stoop to find me.

“Thank you,” was all I said, however.

“How are things going?” Melissa glanced over at me as she turned the truck off the highway and onto Primrose.

“With Derek? Fine, thank you.”

“Does he still spend all night tinkering with his toys instead of coming to bed?” She smiled reminiscently but not without another quick look at me from under her lashes to gauge my reaction. I kept my face immobile, or as immobile as I could manage.

“No idea. We don’t live together.”

“Ah.” It was all she said, but it spoke volumes. I felt myself flush, and forced it back, biting my lip hard. Dammit, I was not going to let this conniving witch get to me.

We pulled onto Becklea after another minute, and I peered out the windshield at all the excitement as we neared the end of the cul-de-sac. The crowd was even bigger today than yesterday, and I saw several of the same faces, including those belonging to my neighbors. Minus Lionel Kenefick, of course, who was at work down at Devon Highlands. And minus Venetia Rudolph, who was probably keeping an eye on things through her curtains, just like yesterday.

The same two police cruisers were back again today, along with a paler blue state police vehicle. K-9 was written on the back in white letters, and in the distance, back at the tree line on the far left side of the house, I could see a blue-clad trooper and his canine companion sniffing along the property line. From this distance, the dog looked like a beautiful specimen of German shepherd, and Stella the shih tzu was straining at her leash to be allowed to go back there and make friends. Arthur Mattson, yet again deep in conversation with Irina and Denise, kept swaying sideways with her frantic pulls.

There was also, I noticed with a sinking heart, a news van from one of the Portland TV stations parked at the curb. They weren’t doing anything exciting at the moment, just desultorily filming the K-9 team inspecting the perimeter of the yard, but if anything happened, or if anyone interview-worthy appeared, I felt certain they’d jump into action. I just hoped they wouldn’t want to jump on me.

I needn’t have worried. When Melissa pulled the car to a stop behind the K-9 vehicle, the camera zoomed our way and immediately focused on her. I told myself not to take it personally. I hadn’t dressed to be on camera, and then I’d been in an accident, while Melissa always looked beautifully groomed and put together. Still, it wasn’t easy. I glanced resentfully at the camera on my way past, moving carefully. Everything hurt.

Melissa smiled. “Hi, Tony. What are you doing here?” They air kissed.

“Got word that your police chief brought in the cadaver dogs.” The TV journalist, forty-something and dashing in Armani, with unnaturally brilliant, black hair and sensuous, slightly too-full lips, seemed happy to explain. “I thought it might be worth the drive out here, just in case it’s another case like John Wayne Gacy. You know me, always hopeful.”

He winked.

My face twisted in disgust. John Wayne Gacy was the worst serial killer in U.S. history. He murdered thirty-three young men and boys back in the 1970s and buried their bodies in the crawlspace under his house in the Chi cago suburbs. Only someone with the emotional maturity of a turnip would wish for the same sort of situation here.

Melissa rose to the occasion like a true professional. “Would you like a comment? On air? My ex-husband owns the house, and he was the one who found the first body. He was also part of the excavation yesterday.”

“Will he talk?” Tony said hopefully. I snorted. Melissa smiled apologetically.

“Better not to ask him, Tony. But you can have me.” She preened.

“Who wouldn’t want you, Missy?” Tony said gallantly. I almost gagged.

Leaving the two of them to work out their on-air comment, since I had no authority over what they did anyway, I headed for the backyard and the entrance to the crawlspace. I wanted to see my boyfriend. The whole crash had shaken me up, and I craved comfort. I smiled a good morning at the neighbors on my way past but didn’t stop to chat, and I waved at Venetia ’s lace curtains on my way around the corner.

In the crawlspace, Wayne and Derek were busy taking down all the temporary floodlights they’d strung yesterday. “K-9 unit said there’s nothing else here,” Wayne explained when he opened the low door for me. “Just the one body. They’re checking the yard now.”

I nodded. “I saw them. They’re working their way around the perimeter. At the rate they’re going, in another hour or so they’ll probably get over to the side with Miss Rudolph’s house.”

Wayne cracked a smile but didn’t answer, just stepped aside to let me in. I looked for Derek. He was on the other side of the crawlspace, with his back to us, and seemed to be busy with the electrical wires. In fact, he didn’t seem to realize I was there at all. It was a little disconcerting, to be honest. If Ray had called, and if Derek knew I’d been in an accident, why wasn’t he showing a little more concern?

“Don’t worry,” Wayne said, obviously reading my mind or the expression on my face. “He knows you’re OK. Ray was kind enough to assure him of that. Several times.”

“Oh. Good.”

That was all I got out, because now Derek turned and noticed my presence. And if I’d had occasion to complain about his attitude earlier, now I didn’t. He dropped what he was holding and hurried toward me, shoulders hunched in the low crawlspace.

I braced myself-he looked like he was thinking of snatching me up and crushing me against his manly chest-but in the end, he just stopped in front of me, blue eyes intent on my face. “Avery.”

“Derek,” I answered. To my utter humiliation, my lower lip started trembling and my eyes filled with tears.

“C’mere.” He pulled me into his arms, but gently. I leaned my cheek against the soft cotton of his T-shirt and breathed in his now-familiar scent of citrus shampoo and Ivory soap mixed with wood glue and mineral spirits, while I listened to the steady beat of his heart against my ear. It’s amazing how something as small as that can help ground a person.

“I’m sorry about your truck,” I said a minute later, after I had extricated myself from his arms and he had, maybe even reluctantly, let me go.

“It’s just a car,” Derek answered. “What happened?”

I told him and watched the look in his eyes go from upset to angry when I described the car hitting the ditch. “I’m sorry,” I said wretchedly. “I did the best I could. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make the turn at the gates, and I didn’t want to hit the school bus, so I thought it would be better just to get off the road.”

“The brakes didn’t respond?” Wayne interjected. I shook my head.

“I had the brake pads replaced last month,” Derek said, eyes flat and hard. “Nothing wrong with them then.”

“And the airbag didn’t work, either?”

“Good thing I was wearing my seat belt, huh?” I managed a bright smile. Both men glowered.

“Let me know what Peter Cortino says,” Wayne told Derek, who nodded.

“Melissa’s out front, talking to a TV journalist from Portland,” I said in an effort to change the subject. “On camera. You may want to go out there and stop her. Or make a statement or something. He told us he was hoping for another John Wayne Gacy.”

The chief of police rolled his eyes but headed for the crawlspace door. Derek was right behind him. “C’mon, Avery. If Melissa goes on TV and makes this into a case of serial killers and multiple bodies buried on our property, we can forget about ever selling this place.”

“He sounded like he’d love to talk to you,” I said, tagging along behind, “so maybe you can get him to interview you live, too.”

“Between me and Wayne, we’ll get him straightened out.” He held the crawlspace door open so I could get out. The K-9 team had reached the back of the property now and was making its slow way along the tree line. The dog alternated sniffing the ground with sniffing the air, while its handler, a young woman, tall and slender, stood patiently by, occasionally moving forward a step when the dog finished smelling its area and moved on.

“Where’s Brandon?” I asked. Brandon Thomas hadn’t been in the crawlspace, and I hadn’t seen him out front, either, when I arrived.

Derek tossed his head, causing a streaked lock of hair to fall into his eyes. “In there.”

“Inside the house?”

He nodded. “The dog marked inside. Not surprisingly, since there’s been lots of dead bodies there. Long ago, though, so he didn’t mark strongly. At least that’s what Daphne said. She’s his handler. Nice girl.”

“So Brandon ’s looking at the inside of the house, just in case?”

“I told him it was unlikely he’d find anything. We’ve ripped up all the old flooring and taken down all the old wallpaper. All that’s left are the bare bones. No pun intended.”

“I had an idea,” I said. “Remember that earring I found in the kitchen the other day? The one that was similar to what Shannon was wearing that night at Guido’s? Do you think it might have been…” I hesitated delicately, “hers? The skeleton’s? Shannon said they were popular four or five years ago, and that everyone had them.”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Derek answered. “Four years is about the length of time she’s been down there, judging from the bones and what’s left of the tissue.”

“Tissue?” My stomach objected to the idea. “You didn’t mention tissue.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to know. And it wasn’t much. A little brain matter, some hair. Dark. Shoulder length. Very dry and brittle now.”

“That seems like a helpful thing to know. Any ideas of…” I swallowed, “eye color?”

“Afraid not. Eyes are some of the first things to go. I won’t tell you why.” He put an arm around my shoulders. “You look like you’re gonna faint. Need to sit down?”

“I think maybe that’d be a good idea. I was feeling a little woozy to begin with, and all these details are creeping me out. I’d never make it as a cop, or a doctor. At the rate we’re going, I’m not sure I’ll make it as a home renovator.”

“And that reminds me,” Derek said, “if I don’t cut Melissa off at the pass and talk to this reporter myself, neither of us is going to make it as a home renovator.”

I nodded. “Go. I’m going to sit here a minute and breathe.”

“Take your time,” Derek said. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. If you feel better before then, I’ll be out front.” He strode around the corner of the house while I sank down on an old, overturned, concrete planter.

I felt like my carefully constructed, brand-new life was coming apart in my hands. Moving to Waterfield after spending the first thirty-one years of my life in New York City had involved taking a huge leap of faith. I’d been prepared for boredom, cold, hard work, failure, and maybe some initial resistance from the native population. It hadn’t occurred to me to prepare for having my stomach turned on a regular basis by dead bodies dropping in my path, and for that matter, for a quick and early death because someone was out to get me.

OK, so no one had said-at least not out loud-that someone had tampered with the truck. But Derek’s assertion that the brakes were new, coupled with Wayne ’s instruction to pass on whatever the mechanic at Cortino’s said, not to mention the look that had passed between the two men, was enough to put the idea in my head. That and the fact that the truck had been parked outside Derek’s loft overnight, open, with the keys under the mat. Anyone could have sauntered behind the hardware store at some point and done something to it. As Dr. Ben’s son, Derek was well known in town, most people knew where to find him, and in addition to that, the truck had that nice new sticker on the side.

From the front of the house, I could hear the buzzing of voices, and I wondered momentarily how Derek was doing spinning the discovery of the bones on camera. Down at the bottom of the yard, Daphne the K-9 trooper and her canine partner had finished their olfactory search of the back of the property and were changing direction to follow the loosely drawn line in the grass that marked the boundary between Venetia Rudolph’s yard and our own. There wasn’t a fence or anything there, just a slight difference in the heights of the grass on either side of the imaginary line, showing where two different people at two different times had mowed the lawns.

I watched the German shepherd as it kept its nose to the ground, inching forward. It was a beautiful animal, its thick, brindled coat sleek and shiny, but as someone who had never owned a dog, and who was just getting used to being waitstaff to cats, I found it more than a little intimidating. Daphne didn’t: She stayed a couple of steps behind, moving at a snail’s pace, occasionally saying a few words to it. The dog lifted its head to sniff the air, the way it had been doing every few feet, and I could see, clear across the yard, the change that came over it. The fur on the back of its neck rose, and its posture became alert, watchful. It barked once, a short, sharp sound that cut through the crisp autumn air like a knife through butter.