These Unquiet Bones (16 page)

Layne glanced at Michael. Being Billy’s friend, Layne wondered if he heard or suspected anything about Billy’s disappearance.

He studied Michael’s ashen face, which was partly hidden beneath an inky wing of hair, but as always the Goth looked drugged, jaded, unaware of anything going on around him.

Layne shook his head, preferring to believe the fool knew nothing, or at least was uninterested. “I’ll go find her,” he said, turning away.

“Ask her why she’s mad at me,” Catherine called as he left the courtyard. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

Chapter 45

White velvety clouds wandered along the noonday sky, and a cool gust of wind whipped a long veil of honey-blonde hair into her face.

On the tall metal bleachers at the far side of the football field, Amy sat with her the envelope in her lap. She pulled out the folder inside it and read the handwritten note attached.

Amy,

I know how you must feel about me right now. I have always regretted how we handled things after your mother passed. Your grandmother did too. I miss you. Not a day goes by that I do not think about you. I tried contacting you over the years, but your father never allowed it. He seemed determined to keep us apart. I truly wish things could have been different. You are now the only family I have left in the world. It breaks my heart that I cannot see you.

That being said, I have received this case file at my doorstep Friday afternoon. It reveals things about your father you must know for your own protection. He has been hiding his past from you, your mother, and probably the rest of the world for all his adult life. He needs to be exposed. I know it pains you to hear,

but I still believe he has involvement in your mother’s death. What I have read in this case file only heightens my suspicions.

I want to protect you, Amy. I think you are in grave danger from your father and the things he has been hiding. I will be waiting in my car in the parking lot when you get out of school. Please come see me so we can discuss this matter in detail and decide on a course of action. I am only looking out for your best interest. I am probably the only one left on this earth who is. Your father is surely not. Why else would he be keeping these secrets? Please, believe me. I am on your side.

Love,

Grandfather Rich

With trembling hands, Amy tore the note to pieces. Her eyes blurred with tears as she tossed the shredded paper to the ground.

She couldn’t believe his nerve, but beneath her anger she was frightened her— frightened at what she might find out upon reading the case file.

She dried her eyes and glanced warily at the folder in her lap. The answers to all the questions she had about her father were supposedly held within its pages. Who could have left it for her grandfather to see?

She also started to question if she truly wanted to take a peek in her father’s closet of long-concealed skeletons; if she truly wanted to know what has been kept silent all these years; if she really want to see her fear become a reality.

Before she could come to a decision, she heard footsteps ascending the metal bleachers. She looked up.

“Been looking everywhere for you,” Layne said, sitting by her side. “What’s going on?”

Amy hesitated, unsure if she should divulge everything to Layne even though she’s told him so much already.

All the men she trusted betrayed her. Could she really trust him?

A small voice, faint but assuring, in the back of her head told her he was the only one she could trust. He never gave a reason for her not to.

So before she could give it another thought, she collapsed into tears and told him everything.

She told him about what happened between her and her grandfather. She told him about the note and the case file.

She also told him about her last night terror, the ghost, and the things she feared about her father.

Layne wrapped his arms around her, and gently stroked her hair. “Shh, it’s all right. It’ll be all right.”

“No it won’t,” Amy sobbed. “It’ll never be all right again.”

“Yes, it will. I promise. Hey.” He placed a finger beneath her chin. “Look at me.”

His eyes were warm and sincere. His smile honest comforting. Trusting.

“I love you, Amy. I won’t ever let anything, or anyone, hurt you. Things will be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

And she knew he would, because he was always truthful with her. He never hid anything. He had no secrets.

His heart was an open book, and she had taken it for granted far too long.

Before she could stop herself, before she could think about what she was doing and if she’d regret it, she leaned in slowly, placed a hand on Layne’s cheek, and kissed him lovingly on the lips.

Layne kissed her back.

Her pulse raced. Her heart filled with a warmth she never knew before. When their lips parted she whispered, “thank you,” and laid her head on his chest.

Layne continued caressing her hair and for a moment all her worries and fears melted away. For the first time in days, she felt safe.

Chapter 46

Richard sat alone at a small table at Mary Lou’s BBQ, a modest, wood-frame restaurant located at the heart of Pine Run’s business district. It was not exactly his idea of fine dining, but he’d heard great things about their barbecue.

Cutting into a tender slab of pork, Richard brooded over Amy’s adolescent tantrum this morning. It struck a nerve, but he was confident she’d understand once she read the case file. He was certain reason would rule the day. After all, Amy was a smart girl. Once she connected the dots, he’d have her.

Richard had faith she’d come around, and when she did they’d find a way to bring Hank down, and find justice for Ellen.

He considered, however, Hank’s powerful connections. How he had been able to cover up his involvement in the horror described in the case file. Who did he know? Yes, he was once a cop and knew many judges and attorneys, but not when he was fifteen-years-old, the age he was when he took part in those sinful deeds.

Who protected him? What unscrupulous fool kept his name from the press? He was not mentioned in the case file.

Whoever it was, Richard also held them responsible for what happened to Ellen. If it weren’t for the unnamed accomplice, Ellen and Hank would have never crossed paths.

And Amy would have never been born.

Richard stuck a forkful of pork drenched in barbecue sauce into his mouth and shrugged the thought away. Washing the bite down with a sip of iced tea, he glanced up, saw a familiar figure step into the restaurant, and smiled.

Chapter 47

“Christ,” Patrick Keene muttered upon meeting eyes with Richard Barret, who smiled and lifted a liver-spotted hand, waving him over. “What’s he doing here?”

“Hello, detective,” Richard said as Patrick reluctantly approached. “Remember me? It’s been a while.”

Patrick felt a sharp sense of dread coil around his gut like a long strand of barbed-wire. “Yes. Ellen Snow’s father.” He shook the man’s out-stretched hand. “What brings you to Pine Run? Visiting family?”

“Actually, yes,” he said. “I have a couple of presents for Amy that I wanted to personally deliver. Her birthday was last Friday you know.”

There was a conspiratorial gleam in Richard’s icy blue eyes that unsettled Patrick. “Yeah? You and Hank patching things up?”

“In a manner of speaking. We’re working on our relations for Amy’s sake. I’m her last living grandparent, after all.”

Patrick nodded his head, certain something was being left unsaid. “What’re the presents, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Richard shook his head. “Oh, not at all. I’m giving her a priceless silver-plated hand mirror and hairbrush. They’re old family relics that had belonged to her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. As I’m sure you can imagine, I did not want to risk sending them to her by mail. They could easily get lost or stolen.”

“Sure,” Patrick said, still not convinced. He had a bad feeling Richard Barrett was up to no good, and it was his fault.

“By the way,” Richard continued, “I’d like to thank you for all the hard work you’ve done for my family. Your devotion to Ellen’s case has been invaluable. I’m sure you understand my meaning.”

The look he gave Patrick sent a chill through the marrow of his bones. “Well, it was nice seeing you. Hope everything works out between you and Amy.”

Not wanting anything to do with what he might be planning, Patrick turned away. Richard grabbed him by the wrist and asked, “Might I ask what you are doing here, detective? Are you working on a case in Pine Run?”

“I transferred to the sub-station here last year,” Keene said, staring at the aged hand gripping his wrist. “I’ve lived here in town with my family for years.”

Lowering his voice, Richard said, “Oh, I was unaware. It’s a nice, quiet little community, even if it is unincorporated. Tell me, was there another murder? Did you find another one of those poor missing girls they’re talking about on the news?”

“I can’t speak about on-going investigations, Mr. Barrett.” Patrick politely wriggled his wrist from the old man’s grasp.

“Oh, yes. I understand,” Richard said, his voice taking on an ominous tenor. “You have a good day then, detective. And I do hope you find one of those missing girls alive. What a terrible world it is we live in, where bad things happen to good women.”

Patrick felt like he’d just stepped into a hornet’s nest, one motivated by a yearning for revenge, a yearning he started. He needed to get away fast. “Yes, well. Goodbye, Mr. Barrett.”

“Farewell, detective,” Richard said with a humorless grin.

What have I done
. He hurried away from the table.

Chapter 48

Hank sat behind his desk in his office flipping through the pages of an automobile magazine and munching on a McDonald’s Big Mac when he received a call.

“We pulled the file on your father from the archives last week,” Joe MacCallum said without prelude. “I’m sure you can imagine why.”

Dropping the half-eaten burger into its greasy box, Hank brushed the breadcrumbs from his bushy beard and said without the least bit of surprise, “I can.”

“Laura Sullivan was found in Citronelle. Same M.O. as whoever did the job on Amber Frey. And the same object was found inside her vagina.”

Hank felt something sour stir in his stomach. With a tight grimace, he pulled out the bottle of Southern Comfort he kept in a desk drawer, splashed a little in the cola, and leaned back in his chair. He took a sip. The booze did nothing to ease the churching. “Still think it’s someone else?”

“Could be a copycat,” Joe suggested.

“No it couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“There are only two people I know of who hate women as much they’d do that.”

Joe sighed and said, “Bubba Ray Busby. Read up on him, too.”

“Figured you would.”

“He and your father were quite a pair. And after what they did… that’s the last thing we need right now, finding out Busby’s still alive after all these years. What a nightmare.”

“Don’t have to tell me that.” Hank took another sip and stared out his office window that looked out on a strip mall and a few small trees across the street. A strong wind rustled their tiny leaves. “I had to live through it,” he said.

“So I understand.”

Hank had blocked those painful memories. He’d become an expert at doing that since the age of fifteen.

But not good enough, apparently, because there were still plenty of ghosts haunting the dark chambers of his mind.

“You and your mother were damn lucky to get away from those monsters. I only wish your sister had the same luck.”

“You get those pictures of her I scanned for you?”

“I did. And you’re right. Frey and Sullivan resemble her to a T.” Joe sighed heavily. “I’ll admit they look a lot like Ellen and Amy as well. Let’s hope we find Jessica Lewis alive.”

“Yeah, let’s hope. All right Joe. I appreciate the update. Guess you don’t need my help anymore with your case.”

“Actually, that’s another reason I called. Patrick wants to have a chat with you.”

Leaning forward in his chair, Hank set his drink down and said, “Tell him he can kiss my ass.”

“Doesn’t have anything to do with Ellen, Hank. He thinks you want to finish what your father started. He thinks you’re the copycat.”

The churning in his stomach seethed like bubbling acid.

“Eventually, Hank, we will have to talk officially. Just to set the record straight. Come by today, get it over with?”

“I’ll sleep on it,” Hank said, and slammed the phone back on its cradle.