Sidetracked-Kobo (15 page)

I ignored him and headed to the kitchen to pour the soft drink. Brought it back to him.

“Thanks, fine lady.” He smiled up at me through his scruffy beard.

“What did you find out?” I sat down again on the small couch.

Pete took a long drink. “Ah, good.” He set the glass on the nearby table. “Talked to Phil Tranke.” Phil owned Redbud’s only drugstore. Clara had worked there a few years ago. “Phil thinks it’s nuts they arrested Billy. He’s got all kinds of ideas about Clara’s murder. Like—what if we’re lookin’ at this all wrong? What if whoever killed her was a total stranger? Maybe some druggie on the street that she stopped to help, and things got outta hand. Remember six months ago Phil had a burglary at his store, and one of the things missin’ was a lot of cold medicine—the stuff you need to make methamphetamine. There’s been more and more problems with meth around here lately. Thing is, the murder seems so random. Not like it could have been planned. A woman’s driving home at night. She stops—for what, we don’t know. And she’s killed.”

Colleen worked her mouth. “The person could have known Clara would be driving home on that street around that time. Everyone in town knew about her shower.”

Pete stroked his beard. “Maybe. Phil also says Billy wasn’t the only guy sweet on Clara. He saw a number of other men hit on her when she worked at the store.”

Clara had never mentioned any of that to me. “Like who?”

“Aaron Kater, for one.”

Of course. Aaron. “I saw him at the crime scene just this morning. He seemed heartbroken. He did mention dating Clara in the past.”

“Phil was there too, right?” Pete shifted in his chair. “That’s what made him think of Aaron. Something about the things he said—before you arrived.”

I lowered my chin. “Things can be taken the wrong way. And besides, it’s all just conjecture, Pete.”

“Yup. But conjecture’s all we got right now. Unless you want to go with the Billy idea.”

“What if Billy did do it?” Nicole said.

Three heads turned in her direction.

She pulled her mouth to one side. “Well, everything does point to him. He was there at the right time. Wearing the dark hoody you saw, Delanie. Plus he lied about all of that.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “But why would he hurt Clara?”

“He probably didn’t mean to. Maybe he waved her down, and she got out of her car, thinking something was wrong. When she got close he tried to kiss her or something. She pushed him away, and he just … lost it. Started choking her. And he couldn’t stop until it was all done. Then he panicked and ran.”

I stared at Nicole. “How can you think this about Billy?”

“He
lied
, Delanie. Why would he do that?”

“But you
know
him.”

She averted her gaze to the couch. Ran a finger over the cushion. “Maybe I just thought I did.”

“What does that mean?”

Her throat convulsed. My insides went cold. Clearly Nicole thought she knew something.

“A comment he said to me last week. I didn’t think much of it then, but …” A tear rolled out of Nicole’s eye.

Colleen touched Nicole’s knee. “What did he say?”

Nicole sniffed and wiped her cheek. “We were at church. He asked me if I was going to Clara’s shower, and I said yes. He got this angry look on his face.” Nicole raised her head and looked me in the eye. “He said, ‘I have to stop her.’”

Pete drew his head back. “Stop her from doin’ what?”

“I don’t know. I asked him, but he turned away. Now I think … maybe I should have known. Maybe he was talking about Clara marrying Jerald.”

“She was gonna be more than my friend.
” Billy’s words ran through my head. Had he really expected Clara to break up with Jerald and be with him? And when she didn’t …

No. Not possible.

“But Billy wasn’t the man I saw by the bush.” How many times did I have to remind people of that? “He’s
too tall
.”

Nicole laid a hand against her jaw. “Look at this objectively. The man’s height is what you remember, Del. But memories aren’t always reliable. I learned about that in my psychology class.”

Colleen tilted her head. “I’ve heard that too—that people think they remember who they saw committing a crime, but they’re wrong. Eyewitness accounts are the least reliable evidence in court, did you know that? Saw it on the news once. But jurors tend to treat them like they’re the most reliable.”

Now there were
two
of them? I looked helplessly to Pete. He stroked his beard, focusing across the room. His gaze seemed to pierce through the wall. I could tell he was gearing up for a story. Frustration banged around inside me. I didn’t want a railroad story right now. I wanted him to tell Colleen and Nicole they were
wrong.

Pete leaned forward, arms on his legs and hands laced. “Back in 1995 or so I was engineer on the leg from Seattle to Wenatchee, Washington. I was with my conductor, Manny. It was the dead of winter and real cold. Trip took five and a half, six hours if there were no problems. You had to go through the Cascade Tunnel, which was all uphill goin’ east. One point two percent grade. Goin’ east we were always in the number six notch.” Pete looked to me. “Notches had to do with how fast you were goin’. They ran from number one through eight.”

My eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. I needed to change clothes for dinner so I could watch the 6:00 news. But I barely felt the energy to get off the couch.

“Anyway, there’s only one main track runnin’ each direction, of course. If a second train’s comin’ the other way one of ’em’s got to move to a siding. Amtrak was comin’, so before hittin’ the tunnel we got over to wait. Then Amtrak radioed our dispatcher and said he saw a man at Bay Seven in the tunnel. Bays held equipment and stuff—a little indentation off the track. So the dispatcher tells us to stop and pick up the guy. He was way out in the middle of nowhere and likely to freeze to death if we didn’t fetch him.”

Nicole frowned. “How’d he get there?”

“Well now.” Pete spread his hands. “That’s a mystery, ain’t it. What’s the guy doin’ there where he shouldn’t be? Franklin and I started knockin’ around theories. Neither of us came anywhere close to the truth.”

Like—why was Billy King on Brewer Street last night?

“So we stop and pick the man up. A hobo, drunk as a skunk. He climbs up in the cab, mighty glad for the warmth.” Pete pinched his nose. “Guy smells like he hasn’t had a bath in months. I says, ‘Man, what are you
doin’
out here?’ Connor—that’s his name—says he’d hopped a ride on another train with a few other hobos. Ended up gettin’ into a fight with one of ’em, and the other guy threw him off. He went into the tunnel for shelter.” Pete chuckled. “If he was even thinkin’ that clearly. Guy was dead drunk.”

“People really did that in the ’90s?” Colleen planted a fist against her waist. “Hopped free rides on trains like that?”

Pete shrugged. “Sure. Don’t mean it was legal. But how else were the tramps supposed to get around?” He stuck a finger in his beard and scratched his chin. “After awhile Connor starts groanin’ ’bout his foot. And the guy won’t shut up. ‘Oh, it hurts, it hurts.’ So Manny turns on the cab light and says, ‘Let’s have a look.’ Connor’s wearin’ boots, and sure enough, looks like the right one has blood on it. Manny tells him to take off the boot. Which he does. Now the sock’s
real
bloody. Connor, he still has no idea what’s goin’ on. Manny says, ‘Better take off your sock.’”

Pete leaned back against the couch and scratched his chin again.

Colleen raised her eyebrows. “And …?”

Pete sniffed. “Two toes fell out.”

“Oooh!” Nicole screwed up her face.

“Connor just stares at ’em. Then he says, ‘Are those
my
toes?’ I point to his foot with three toes left and say, ‘Looks like it, Bud.’ Manny takes a closer look at the boot the guy took off. You can see a mark over the top of it. Apparently when Connor got thrown off the train, his foot was run over.”

Nicole hugged herself. “How could he not know that happened?”

“Too drunk, is all. Amazin’ what you miss when you drink too much.”

“So what happened to him?” Colleen asked.

“Manny used our first aid kit to wrap up the foot. We radioed the dispatcher that we’d need an ambulance at the Redondo Crossing in Wenatchee.” Pete gestured toward Colleen. “We’re tryin’ to help Connor, see? So what does he do? Get’s all scared that the railroad cops are gonna arrest him for train-hoppin’ when we stop. He keeps harpin’ at us to let him off early. Man’s so afraid of gettin’ into trouble, he ain’t even worried about his toes or freezin’ to death.” Pete spread his lips. “I convinced him he wouldn’t be arrested. We stopped at the crossin’ and the ambulance was there. They carted him off. Left his two toes behind though. Manny swept ’em out of the cab before we headed off again.”

Nicole managed a nervous laugh.

If Pete had told this story two days ago, we’d all have laughed ourselves silly. How many times had he regaled us with stories about his railroad escapades? About how his conductor served as the “sidewall heater chef” in the days of the older locomotives, using the electric heaters on the side of the cab to cook deer, moose, bear, and wild meat chili. Or the time a train carrying corn derailed one hot summer, and the corn fell into a nearby stream. In the heat it fermented in the water. Bears followed their noses, ate the corn, and got drunk. Pete saw five to six bears staggering around or lying on their backs with their paws in the air. Colleen, Nicole, and I giggled about that one for days. Before Clara’s death, even thinking about that story would set me off.

Now I wondered if I would ever find anything funny again.

Pete took a drink of his Coke. “So you get why I told you that story?”

Colleen pushed up her lower lip. “Comic relief?”

“More than that.” Pete held up a finger. “One, sometimes the truth is way more crazy than you’d ever guess. Two”—another finger went up—“sometimes people who ain’t thinkin’ straight—like Billy—are so worried ’bout gettin’ in trouble, they do stupid things to avoid it. Like Connor wantin’ to get off the train early in the freezin’ cold—with two less toes. Like Billy lyin’ to the police about bein’ on Brewer Street last night when he coulda just told ’em the truth.”

“Then why was he there?” Nicole’s tone held a silent plea, as if she wanted to be convinced.

“I don’t know.” Pete cocked his head. “Could be a crazy reason. Could be somethin’ he’s ashamed to admit, like wantin’ to see Clara drive by on her way from the shower.”

Problem was, now we might never know. The more scared Billy became, the more he’d dig in his heels. Insist on the lie.

Wait
.
Something Pete had said earlier to me that day …

“What if he didn’t lie?” I focused on Pete. “You asked me that before. What if Billy
wasn’t
anywhere near Brewer Street last night? And Cheryl really is telling the truth about him being home. She’s never admitted to anything different.”

“Becky saw Billy.” Pete sighed. “Told me so herself.”

“Maybe she’s wrong. Like Colleen said, eyewitnesses aren’t always reliable. If
I’m
not reliable about the height of the man I saw, why is
she
any more reliable?”

“She saw his face,” Pete said. “Right in her headlights.”

“I know. Still, you’re assuming she’s right.”

“Maybe you’re both right.” Nicole lifted a shoulder. “Becky saw Billy there, and you saw a different man.” Her voice trailed off. “Wearing the same hoody.”

I gave her a look. “Could be two similar sweatshirts. Maybe one was dark blue and one was black. There are millions of hoodies out there.”

I put a hand to my forehead. My mind was running in circles. And I
had
to get ready for dinner with Andy. I pushed to my feet. “All I know is, we have to stop thinking we know
everything. With every detail, we’re making a lot of assumptions. We have to step back from those assumptions. Try to look at things in a different way. Or …”

My head lowered. At that moment I wanted to be anywhere but in Redbud. I wished I’d never come to the town.

“Or what?” Colleen’s voice was gentle.

I focused on the floor between my feet. “Or an innocent person could go to jail for a very long time.”

I turned toward the hallway and made for my bedroom, feeling three pairs of eyes on my back.

October 1995

Laura’s trial went into a second week. By that time her emotions were totally fried. But she had to pull herself together. On this day, she would take the stand.

She wore a new pair of pants her dad had bought for her. (Imagine that—he’d buy her clothes but testify against her.) And a long-sleeved green blouse that matched her eyes.

As Laura took her seat at the witness stand, she allowed her gaze to cruise the courtroom, catching the eyes of her Aunt Nicky and her dad. Laura quickly looked away. How different everything was from up there. Everyone looking at her—not just at her back, but her face. Everyone hanging on every word. The reporters were practically salivating.

She hadn’t slept the previous night. After all her preparation with Devlon, what if she came unglued? Really messed up? Plus, he’d told her it wouldn’t be easy. First she’d have to relive the whole awful story about finding her mother. Relate every detail. And that was just when her own attorney was questioning her. When he was done Cantor would have his chance. And don’t you know that horrible man would just as soon skin her alive.

It wasn’t until her testimony about finding her mom that Laura started to cry. She hated that. Tried to hold back the tears, but then her throat got all choked up. She went through three tissues from the nearby box. Clutching them in her hand, wiping her eyes. Good thing she wasn’t wearing mascara. It would all be gone.

And then came the questions about the words she’d spoken to her dad on the lawn. “‘I didn’t mean it.’ You remember saying those words, Laura?” Devlon’s tone was gentle.

“Yes.”