Dark Waters (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

R
ACHEL SAT AWAKE
all night, curled up on the couch. The TV played infomercials about some exercise program that used enormous rubber balls.

There was nothing she could do. She had been abandoned. The lake spirits that had nurtured her, that had helped her in return for her help, were no longer interested.

But why? She had two mutually exclusive explanations—one of which might’ve very well come from her own subconscious. She had no way of knowing if her conversation with the old Lo-Stahzi woman was real or not. And at least Betty McNally’s story came from a real, if dotty, human being who’d shared some of the same experiences.

And Betty also had a plan, sort of.
Kyle Stillwater must be made to do our bidding
.

She hugged the pillow to her chest. It smelled of cat hair. Tainter lay at her feet, looking up expectantly. Occasionally he meowed softly, as if to remind her that he was here for her.

Fine
, she thought.
Kyle Stillwater must be made to do our bidding. I know what
I
want him to do, God forgive me
. But Kyle Stillwater first had to be found, and she had no idea where—

Patty
.

Patty had tried to tell her about “someone else.” In her selfishness, she’d completely forgotten about that. Kyle had come after Rachel first, as the avatar of the good spirits he opposed, so Patty would be a logical next step, the woman those same spirits called their “treasure.”

In the bedroom, her alarm went off. Tainter stood, arched his back, and stretched his claws against the area rug. Rachel sat, listening to the harsh sound, before its meaning got through. It was time to start another day at the diner.

She went into the bedroom and turned off the alarm. The sudden thought of routine, of tasks known and understood, appealed to her more than she could say. She put aside the supernatural worries, started her shower, and picked out clothes for work.

PATTY DIDN’T SHOW
up for breakfast that morning. She also didn’t answer her phone when Rachel called.

The ringtone Rachel had programmed for Becky was “The Real Me” by The Who. It was a harsh song, and it always got Rachel’s attention. But she was so out of it that she missed the call, grabbing her phone just an instant too late. She tried Patty again while her phone was open, but there was still no answer.

She tried calling Becky back at once but got her voice mail. She hung up without leaving a message. It seemed to be the thing to do these days. Then she tried Patty again, but there was still no answer.

“Was that Becky calling?” Helena said. She knew the song’s significance as well.

“Apparently,” Rachel said. Jimmy hit the bell to announce that an order was ready, and Rachel carried it to the table. She heard the chime that meant she had a voice mail, but the diner was so busy that it was twenty minutes later before she had a chance to check it.

There were harsh voices in the background, and the sound of heavy doors slamming shut. Rebecca sounded like she was in tears. “Rachel? This is Becky. I’m at … I’ve been arrested. For Garrett’s murder.”

THE CITY JAIL
smelled like bleach and urine. It was cold, and the officer who led Rachel down the bright corridor was wide enough that her hips could’ve easily bumped from wall to wall with every step. Her expression was so devoid of compassion or any other human emotion that Rachel wondered if she might be mentally impaired. But when she growled, “Ten minutes,” Rachel understood that she was simply a woman who didn’t care about anyone unless they wore a blue uniform.

The room looked exactly like she expected from all those television shows: blank concrete walls and a single table with a metal folding chair on either side. Rebecca was already seated there, watched over by another female officer as overweight, bored, and contemptuous as the one who’d shown Rachel to the room.

The orange jumpsuit highlighted Becky’s red, splotchy face. Her hair was unbrushed and tied back; she wore no makeup or jewelry. The urge to hug her was overpowering, but Rachel had been warned not to attempt any physical contact. She pulled out the other chair and sat down.

“So where were you when I called?” Becky snapped.

“Working,” Rachel said. “I just missed it.”

Becky shrugged. “Yeah, well … it doesn’t matter. I have nothing to worry about, they tell me. I’ll get either a public defender or one of the attorneys who does pro bono work for PBN. It shouldn’t be hard to prove I didn’t kill Garrett, because I didn’t.”

“Why do they think you did?”

“That phone message I left. I mentioned Romeo and Juliet, and since they both died, apparently that counts as a threat.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“That’s what they told me. I might’ve sounded a little … unbalanced when I left it too. That probably didn’t help.” She sniffled and seemed like she was about to cry again.

Rachel was silent for a moment. Then she said, “So have you been officially arraigned?”

“No, they have to do DNA tests and fingerprints and all that CSI crap. But until then I have to sit in here.”

“What’s your bail?”

“Bail? Haven’t you been paying attention? I haven’t been arraigned yet, and even when I have, I’ve been arrested for murder. There
is
no bail.”

“Is that what your lawyer told you?”

“I don’t have a lawyer yet.”

Then you don’t know, do you?
Rachel thought.
Just like always
. But she said, “Then I’ll see what I can do.”

“You do that,” Becky said, crossed her arms, and looked away. She’d spent her whole life in variations of that pose, it seemed to Rachel.

Rachel stood. “I
will
try to help you, Becky. I promise.”

Becky said nothing and did not move, but Rachel saw the tears roll down her cheeks.
She must be so afraid
, Rachel thought; she did her best to avoid consequences, and now there was no denying them.

“Be strong, baby,” Rachel said softly, again fighting the urge to hug her sister. Then she turned to the door and knocked to be let out before Becky could say something else crass and change her mind. The cruel-mouthed matron waddled to comply.

MARTY SAW HIS
brother emerge from the elevator. Ethan was dressed for work in a pressed shirt and khakis, but his eyes were red and he’d shaved haphazardly. When he reached Marty’s desk he said, “I know, I look like crap.”

“You do.”

Ethan lowered himself gratefully into the visitor’s chair. “I saw on the news that you arrested Rachel’s sister.”

“Yep.”

“Did she give you any trouble?”

“No.”
Except for screaming, collapsing, and having to be transported to jail in an ambulance
, he thought.

“Did she tell you what she did with his heart?”

“She says she’s innocent. We’re still looking.”

“Has she got a lawyer?”

“Not yet. She’ll be appointed one if Bloom’s office doesn’t make its own arrangements. I get the feeling that no one there wants to step in and be in charge.”

“And everyone’s happy with this?”

Marty shrugged. “The chief’s happy. The mayor’s happy. The D.A.’s happy. They’re the only ones who matter to me.”

“What about your friend Mr. Red Bird?”

“James Red Bird is
not
my friend,” Marty said with certainty, “but I made a deal, and I’ll stick to it. Sometimes you have to pick your battles. He lost his; the whole casino scam is off. So I’m satisfied with that for now.”

“Yeah, well, I still think I should’ve beaten some decency into him instead of helping him pick up his toys.” Ethan yawned and shook his head.

“It’s probably better that you didn’t,” Marty said.

“So does Rachel know about Becky yet?”

“I have no idea. We don’t generally inform the next of kin of suspects. Has she called you?”

“No.”

“And of course you haven’t called her.”

Ethan scowled and stood. “I have a meeting to get to. I’ll talk to you later.”

“
You
could tell her.”

He laughed humorlessly. “I’m not paid to do your dirty work.”

“It would give you an excuse to talk to her.”

“You’re like a broken record, Marty.”

Marty said nothing as Ethan walked to the elevator. His brother looked like he’d lost everything. His big shoulders were slumped, and he radiated a weariness that was more than just physical.

As Ethan stepped into one elevator, the doors of the other one opened and Rachel Matre exited. Neither saw the other, and Marty fought the urge to laugh at this
Doctor Zhivago
moment. But when he saw the look on Rachel’s face, he was glad he’d kept silent.

“Rachel,” he said formally when she reached his desk. He stood and gestured toward the guest chair.

“I suppose you know why I’m here,” she said as she took the offered seat.

“Yes,” he said.

“Becky didn’t kill Garrett Bloom.”

“I believe you, actually.”

She blinked in surprise. “You
do
?”

“Yes. But at the same time, I also believe the evidence we have linking her to the crime.”

“The phone call?”

“I can’t really talk about it. But let’s just say that some people higher up than me heard a distinct threat in it. And the timing made it suspicious. So orders were sent down.”

“What about bail?”

“That’s up to the district attorney’s office. This was a heinous crime of particular brutality. I don’t see him letting her out.”

She nodded. “I could give her an alibi.”

“That’s perjury.”

“Only if it isn’t true.”

“But it wouldn’t be, would it?”

She sighed. “No. But have you considered that guy who showed up at the ground-breaking ceremony? He certainly seemed to have a bone to pick with Bloom.”

“Kyle Stillwater? We haven’t been able to find a trace of him. I suspect …” He stopped when he realized he was about to disclose confidential information.

“What?” Rachel prompted.

“It’s official. I shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Please, Marty. I won’t tell anyone. Especially not Becky.”

“All right. We found out Bloom was running a con. The whole community center project was a fraud, to get a casino here in town.”

“What? How could he do that?”

“It’s complicated. But it might’ve worked.”

Rachel said nothing.

“Anyway,” Marty continued, “if my instincts are right, the real killer now thinks he’s gotten away with it. Maybe he’ll slip up.”

“And until then, Becky rots in jail?”

“She won’t
rot
, Rachel. It’s not a country club, but it’s not a gulag. She’ll be fine. And safe.”

She stood. “Thanks, Marty. And … you really have no idea where Kyle Stillwater is?”

“No. None at all. I’m sure it was an alias. It’s almost like he doesn’t exist.”

“Oh, he exists,” Rachel said enigmatically. Then she left.

———

AN INDIGNANT HORN
interrupted Ethan’s yawn to inform him the light was now green. He resisted the urge to flip off the driver behind him, a young man with a tuft of hair on his chin and a Bluetooth in his ear. The little car zoomed around Ethan’s truck at the first opportunity, only to get stopped at the next red light. As he came up behind it, Ethan smiled.

If he hadn’t been so tired, his own frustration might be wound as tight as Mr. Bluetooth’s. There was only one way to deal with it, really, and that was to simply march into Rachel’s diner and demand that the woman speak with him. The problem was, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself in her presence. He didn’t worry about his temper; it was all the other emotions, the ones he kept private and hidden. If
they
burst out, he might never get them back in their box.

At the next light, Mr. Bluetooth was in the lane beside him. He leaned forward over his steering wheel and stared at the light as if he could will it to turn green. His hands impatiently opened and closed around the steering wheel.

Ethan laughed again and turned on the radio. An army recruiting commercial was in mid-spiel, urging young men to become “an army of one.” Usually this amused Ethan, but this time it was different. He felt his spine straighten, his shoulders go back, and his jaw firmly set.
By God, I
am
an army of one
, he thought.
And it’s okay to be scared to face the enemy, as long as you still suck it up and
do
it
.

When the light changed, he gunned the engine and switched lanes in front of Mr. Bluetooth. Then he stayed there until he turned in to the parking lot of Rachel’s diner.

IN HER CAR
, Rachel turned on the air conditioner and took several deep breaths. These damned crying jags had to stop; people were depending on her, for God’s sake. She looked at herself in the mirror and winced at her red, puffy eyes. She’d have a hard time blaming them on allergies, that was certain.

Worse was the rippling, tingling desire that always hovered just at the edge of her consciousness. She would have to try the lake again tonight. Maybe the spirits were just annoyed and now missed her as much as she did them. She refused to think about Betty’s warning and the possibility of a lifetime of feeling this way. One problem at a time.

She took a drink of water from the bottle in the cup holder. At least now the quest wasn’t just personal. If she could find Kyle Stillwater, she could help both Becky
and
herself. Stillwater had to be behind Bloom’s murder; his ties to the Lo-Stahzi were too great to ignore. He had to be found and brought in for questioning. But how?

There was one other source of information she could try, although she’d almost rather eat her way across a table of broken glass. Yet Becky was depending on her, and it was silly to stand on pride.

Yes, that was it. It was all for Rebecca.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

E
THAN LOOKED DOWN
at his feet moving along the sidewalk outside the diner. He recalled watching his boots in Iraq the same way, only then it was to check the ground for IED triggers or other booby traps buried in the sand. Here the IEDs were entirely in his heart, and he was going to trigger them deliberately.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

There were a half-dozen customers, all seated along the counter. He saw Rachel’s friend Helena and another waitress he didn’t recognize. In the kitchen, the scruffy cook worked intently over the griddle. The air smelled of eggs, coffee, and air-conditioning, while smooth jazz came from the radio. There was no sign of Rachel.

He took a stool at the end of the counter—the same one he’d chosen the first time he came here.

The waitress he didn’t know came to greet him. Her name tag said “Clara.” “Hi. Welcome to Rachel’s. First time here?”

“First time in a while,” he said.

“Would you like to start with some coffee?”

“Please,” he said, then added before she turned away, “Is Rachel around?”

“No, she had some family emergency. Do you know her?”

“We’re acquaintances.”

“Well, I’ll be right back with your drink. Today’s specials are on the wall.”

Ethan’s heart sank, and he berated himself. Of course, her sister was arrested this morning; she was dealing with that. How self-centered he’d been not to think of it. He picked up the menu and stared at it until he sensed the waitress’s return.

When he looked up again, it wasn’t Clara. Helena stood before him, smiling crookedly. “You have great timing. Or was this on purpose?”

Ethan put down the menu. “No, I actually
did
hope to find her here. I just didn’t think about what happened with her sister.”

“Then you know? Oh, of course; Marty told you, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

She looked around to make sure no one was listening, then said quietly, “I know it’s none of my business, but you’ve been a total wuss about this whole thing. Yeah, I know, you promised and gave your word and blah-blah-blah, but you really need to man up here, and I don’t mean that macho bullshit they teach you in the army. I mean see what needs to be done and
do
it. If you’re waiting for her to make the first move, it’ll never happen.”

A little offended, Ethan began, “I don’t think—”

“Yes, you do. You’re a man,” Helena shot back. “All you
do
is think. But if you want Rachel, you’re going to have to learn to
feel
. You have to feel how much she needs you.”

“I’m sure she can handle—”

“Dammit!” Helena exclaimed, and a few people looked their way. She leaned over the counter. “I’m not talking about this stuff with Becky. I’m talking about when there’s
not
a crisis or an emergency to distract her. I’m talking about the quiet times. That’s when she needs you, tough guy. Good God, you could feel that she needed you when she was locked in a basement in the middle of nowhere, and you can’t feel
this
?”

Before Ethan could answer, she turned and stormed off into the kitchen, passing Clara on her way. Clara put down the coffee and said, “Do you know Helena too?”

“Not as well as she knows me, apparently,” Ethan said.

The door opened again, and an older woman with dark, curly hair entered. She looked around, then asked Clara, “Is Rachel here?”

“Everybody wants the boss today,” Clara said. “No, she’s not here. I don’t know when she’ll be back.”

The woman held out an envelope. “Please make sure she gets this. Can I trust you?”

“Sure,” Clara said.

Ethan glanced up and caught the woman staring at him. He smiled, but she didn’t look away. That inner sense he’d developed in Iraq, where danger could be hidden in plain sight, sent warning tingles up the back of his neck. “Do we know each other?”

“No,” the woman said. “We don’t. I’m Betty.”

“Ethan,” he said but did not offer his hand.

Betty smiled. “You’re here looking for Rachel too.”

“I am?”

“You are. I have a sense about these things.”

“Well … she’s not here, so I guess I’ll be leaving.” He stood, which forced Betty to step back. He tossed some bills on the counter, then turned, only to find the woman in his path.

He clenched his fists. Whoever she was, she affected him not like an attractive woman but like another man who meant him harm.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Ethan,” she said without breaking his gaze. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

“Uh-huh. Good day, ma’am.” He went around her as quickly as he could without being rude.

JULIE SCHUTES’S GORGEOUS
blue eyes opened wide with surprise. “Ms. Matre,” she said after a moment, then stood as a man might do.
As Ethan did on our first date
, Rachel recalled vividly.

She wondered about Julie’s first date with Ethan as she admired the woman’s taut body and impeccable style. Did they have sex that night, and if so, in his house (which she still hadn’t seen) or hers? Had she dressed for it, in slinky underthings that she peeled off sensually and slowly, or had the connection been a surprise to them both?

She managed a neutral smile. “Have you got a moment?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t shake.

Julie nodded. She was taller than Rachel—model tall, in fact—but that might just be the shoes. “Of course. Please sit down.”

Rachel did so, keeping her back straight and her hands formally in her lap. She was about to speak when she noticed a manila folder on Julie’s desk labeled “Lady of the Lakes.” She hid her true reaction, nodded at the folder, and said casually, “So are
you
the Lady of the Lakes?”

“Hardly,” Julie said as she sat and smoothed her skirt, “but I intend to find out who is. And what they’re up to.”

“ ‘Up to’?”

“There has to be an agenda. And where there’s an agenda, there’s money. Eventually I’ll find the money trail, and then I’ll unmask this so-called Lady.” She smiled coldly. “But that’s not why you’re here.”

“No.” Rachel looked down at her fingers. “I’m sure you know my sister’s been arrested for the murder of Garrett Bloom.”

“I wrote the story,” Julie confirmed.

She managed to gloat in a way that Rachel could not react to without seeming paranoid. “I don’t believe she’s guilty, which is probably not a surprise either.”

“Most families have a hard time accepting that. I once covered a trial where the mother of the suspect threw a Bible at the trial judge. Knocked a hole in the drywall right beside his head.”

Rachel waited, then said, “I believe I know who
did
kill Garrett Bloom. I thought you might like to know as well.”

“Of course. Who?”

“Kyle Stillwater.”

Julie’s forehead creased in surprise. “The Indi—I’m sorry, I mean the Native American activist who crashed the ground-breaking ceremony?”

“Yes. If he really is an activist. Or Native American. Have you found any trace of him?”

“I haven’t really tried. The police established that he used the name of a local actor, so there’s very little to go on. Besides, they seem very sure they’ve got their culprit.”

“They could be wrong. Stillwater threatened Bloom in front of an awful lot of people.”

“Even more reason to doubt he’s the actual killer.”

“Unless he’s crazy.”

“All killers are crazy. They have to be, to do what they do.” She paused. “I’m sorry. That was glib and thoughtless.”

“Yes, it was.”

Julie tapped her pen against her lips thoughtfully. “Still … you might be right. Even if he wasn’t the killer, there’s something not quite right about the whole Stillwater thing. Where did he come from that day? And where did he go? And why hasn’t anyone seen him since?”

“It sounds like a story to me,” Rachel said. She wished the woman would stop saying the name Stillwater, since each time she did, it sent an intimate jolt through her.
My God
, she thought in horror,
it’s only
been days. How can I survive
years
of this if I end up like Betty McNally?

Julie’s eyes narrowed, and the bitchiness returned. “Yes, it does. And one that might help get your sister off the hook, if it pans out. If it doesn’t, then it’s just my time wasted.”

“What’s your point?”

Julie sat back and crossed her arms. “I usually get paid for my time, Ms. Matre. That’s what a reporter brings to the table: time, expertise, connections. If you want me to use them …”

“Are you saying I should
hire
you?”

“Good Lord, no. I wasn’t talking about money. I was thinking more of … a trade. I do something for you, you do something for me.”

Rachel felt herself flush red with fury. “Let me guess. You want me to stay away from Ethan?” she asked calmly.

“Forever,” Julie hissed, suddenly so cold and vicious it made Rachel start. “I don’t ever want you to come near him or contact him again as long as you live.”

Rachel had to swallow hard in the face of this blatant rage. Icily she said, “What if he contacts me first?”

Julie flicked her hand as if swatting a fly. “Then you send him away. You work as a waitress in a dump of a diner; you know how to give men the brush-off.”

Rachel’s rage swelled to a degree she’d seldom experienced. Through clenched teeth she said, “And what kind of guarantee do you give me that you’ll genuinely try to help?”

Julie leaned back, smug and triumphant. “That would be
my
promise. You and I may not like each other, but ask around: I keep my word. You stay away from Ethan, and I find out the truth about Kyle Stillwater.”

Rachel wanted to scream, as the name had its usual effect. “Fine,” she said tightly.

Julie turned back to her computer screen. “Then you can go. We have nothing else to discuss.”

Rachel got to her feet and turned to leave, then paused. “I’ll be in touch, you know. A lot.”

“Oh, you can call
me
whenever you want,” Julie said, already typing. “Just remember your promise. Stay away from Ethan Walker.”

Rachel strode away. If she looked back and the bitch was smiling, she’d have to knock those perfect white teeth down her pale, slender throat.

JULIE WATCHED RACHEL
leave. The woman
was
attractive, in a hippie sort of way, and she could imagine Ethan’s desire to get his hands on that tight ass. Certainly he’d once had a hard time keeping them off her own, which she kept as firm as a high school senior’s. And now that he’d overcome the performance issues caused by his stint in Iraq, she looked forward with renewed excitement to behaving like a cat in heat for him. He was strong enough, physically and otherwise, to make her do things she normally wouldn’t consider, and she loved it when he gave in to that impulse to dominate her.

She picked up the phone and dialed his office. She wanted to strike while the iron of Rachel’s promise was hot. She got his voice mail, but that was okay. This was the campaign’s opening salvo, not its final battle.

“Ethan?” she said in her sweetest voice, careful not to lay it on too thick. “It’s Julie. Oh, but I guess you know that. Anyway, I … Oh, hell, I just wanted to see you and talk to you. Why don’t we meet for dinner tonight? Call me back and let me know. Oh, and you can tell me to go to hell again if you want, but really, I just miss spending time with you. I miss your company. That’s all.”

She hung up quickly before she tipped her hand. She was good at faking sincerity, and this wasn’t even all faking. She
did
want to see him.

Ethan would do one of two things. He would call her back when he was sure he’d get her voice mail and tell her to leave him alone, or he’d grudgingly accept. Either response was fine, actually. What she mainly wanted to do was provoke him into calling Rachel, so that the little diner whore could break his heart. Then Julie could swoop in with the dustpan and the super-glue, and put it back together again her way.

But she hadn’t lied when she said her word was honorable. The mystery of Kyle Stillwater, and the memory of his delectable body emerging from the lake, did actually intrigue her, so it wasn’t a hard promise to keep.