Bitter Crossing (A Peyton Cote Novel) (33 page)

“A sinner?”

Elise shrugged. “Yeah. I told him adultery didn’t exactly make him a top-shelf Christian, but he said he was doing God’s work.”

“What does that mean?” Peyton said.

“Who knows? Why would he stick around to do this?”

“I have one theory,” Peyton said, and told her about the background check and what information had been discovered.

Oddly, a vehicle accelerated past the driveway. Something jangled like a tire chain as the vehicle raced down the dirt road.

“A DNA test proves Jonathan is the father of the baby I found near the river,” Peyton said, “the abandoned baby girl. I’m so sorry.”

Tears quickly filled Elise’s eyes. “That’s the same baby that went missing?”

“Yeah. Your car actually gives me hope that we may find her. I think he took her.”

“And if he’s in the area, so is she?”

“Yes.”

Elise was still crying. She turned and faced the dirt road.

“I saw the car this morning and just started to wonder about it all, about what I’m doing. Am I making Max’s life harder? Should I have just gone on like I was? Am I being selfish?”

Peyton put a hand on her sister’s back.

“Being true to yourself is never selfish,” Peyton said. “Denial is the easy road. Max will know that when he gets older. I respect you, and Mom feels the same way.”

“I know. I talked to her. She’s inside. Been here all day.” Elise looked away again and was quiet.

Peyton said nothing, giving her time to process.

“Goddamn him,” Elise said. “Even last year in Boston? When I thought the affair was over? When he
told
me it was over?”

She looked dazed. Peyton thought of a time when she’d caught up to an eighteen-wheeler just west of Las Cruces, New Mexico, with thirty Mexican nationals in the cargo trailer. The coyote had denied any wrongdoing, and in the hundred-plus-degree heat, only desperate fists pounding the inside of the trailer had saved the passengers. Once the trailer was unlocked, Peyton discovered a teenaged mother cradling a dead baby. The girl wouldn’t let go of her infant. Peyton spoke to her in Spanish, trying to convince her to turn the tiny corpse over to paramedics. That girl had the same expression Elise now wore.

The look of the lost, a forlorn expression worn by those struck down by personal tragedy.

Where would Elise go from here?

“I’ve got an idea that might make you feel better, Ellie.”

“Last time you said that, I’d just failed a mid-term and ended up with a two-day hangover.”

Peyton smiled and shrugged. “It beat crying in your ice cream, didn’t it?”

“I was crying then, too. Pretty pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic. And this doesn’t involve tequila. Follow me.”

A half-hour later, the sisters stood at the end of the dirt driveway, the Wrangler’s headlights illuminating the trees and roadside ditch. Jonathan Hurley’s CD collection was scattered over the dirt drive, disks glistening in the headlights like shimmering whitecaps. Men’s clothing was strewn in the branches and ditch.

Both sisters were laughing.

“Good therapy is hard to find,” Peyton said, hugging Elise. “If you see him, call me.”

Nancy Gagnon answered the door like a woman in mourning.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Peyton Cote,” she said and nearly swallowed the phrase “
with the Border Patrol
. I told you I’d check in every couple days.”

Nancy nodded and held the door. “Lois’s daughter? I didn’t recognize you without your uniform.”

Peyton entered the mudroom and removed her shoes.

“What brings you here, Peyton?”

“I was hoping I could talk to you and your husband. I didn’t get to speak to him the last time.”

“Come in, and sit down. I’ll put the water on. Are you a tea drinker?”

“That sounds great,” Peyton said and took a seat at the kitchen table. “This kitchen is fabulous.”

It was stainless steel, had Viking appliances, track lighting, and to-die-for hand-crafted cabinetry.

“Thank you. Tom actually built the cabinets himself.”

“Talented.”

“Yes, he is. Unfortunately, he’s not here tonight.”

Peyton glanced at the clock on the stove. It was 7:35 p.m.

“Late meeting?”

“Yes,” Nancy said.

“Does he still own the Tip of the Hat?” Peyton said. He’d owned it when she’d been in college, although she’d never seen him working there.

On her previous visit, Nancy had said Tom was home often. She’d gotten the feeling that he was retired, but then he’d been off to work at 5:30 a.m. the morning Autumn had been taken.

“He just sold the Tip of the Hat. But he’s been called in several times to help with things.”

“Like what?”

“Everything from how to set up the taps to how to order to doing time sheets.”

“Who bought it?”

“Someone in Tucson.”

“Tucson?” Peyton said, surprised.

Nancy nodded. “Yeah, they travel here often, liked the area, decided to put a stake in the ground.”

“Tell me about the morning Autumn went missing,” Peyton said, “anything at all you can remember.”

“I played with her on the living room floor, rocked her, and read her stories until she fell asleep in my arms. Then I put her in her crib upstairs. I almost set up the porta-crib in my office, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to wake her, and Tom was out, so I couldn’t ask for help. I set her in the crib and went downstairs. I checked email for close two hours. When I went to check on her, she was gone.”

“Was Tom home by then?”

“No,” she said. “He had a meeting. He’s investing in a start-up and needed to meet with the owners.”

“What’s the company?” Peyton said.

“You know, I don’t know. Never asked.”

Peyton nodded. “Could I see the rest of the house, maybe the room where Autumn slept?”

It sounded like they were taking the profits from the sale of the bar and investing them. At retirement age? It was a risk that would require significant capital.

Nancy led her through the downstairs. Her demeanor changed. Now she was like a woman giving a tour to the members of the town’s garden society.

“You travel a lot,” Peyton said, after Nancy explained how she had acquired an African artifact.

“I love to travel.”

“With Tom retired, hopefully you can do more of it.”

“Yes.”

They had reached the foot of the stairs. Peyton asked the question before they started climbing.

“Have you ever heard the name Jonathan Hurley?”

If Nancy had, her face gave nothing away. “Who is that?”

“No one. Let’s see the baby’s room,” Peyton said.

Autumn’s room, for all of forty-eight hours, was clearly a girl’s bedroom. The walls were pink and covered with posters that a teenager would have loved maybe five years ago.

“This is Kimberly’s room. She’s a sophomore at Bates. Samantha is a senior.”

Peyton looked out the second-floor window. They were thirty feet off the ground. But no matter, someone had entered through the basement, dropped to the workbench, crossed the cellar, climbed the stairs, crossed the kitchen, climbed a second set of stairs, taken the sleeping baby, and retraced their steps.

All without being heard.

And then crawled out the casement window in the basement. And all without waking a sleeping baby?

However, one thing had changed: If Nancy’s new timeline was accurate, they’d had two hours to do it in, not a half-hour, as she’d previously said.

Peyton was alone at the kitchen table in her mother’s house. She heard the knock at the back door and opened it.

Pete Dye didn’t enter. He stood in the doorway, holding a bouquet.

“Didn’t know if you’d want to see me,” he said. “Maybe I should’ve called, but I just …”

“No, I was going come see you tomorrow actually. Tell me about Tom Gagnon.”

“He owns the Tip, or did.”

“What are your impressions of him?”

“Not a bad guy, I guess. I work nights. He’s not there too often at night. Likes to travel. I know he does some good things with charities.”

“Like what?”

“Underprivileged kids or something.”

“Locally?” Peyton said.

“I don’t think so. Listen, Peyton, I needed to see you about something else. I thought maybe we could talk. Brought you these.” He held the bouquet of flowers out to her. “Judging from your reaction when I kissed you, I upset you. These are a peace offering.”

“Please come in,” she said and held the door. “Thank you for the flowers. But they’re not necessary.”

He took two steps into the kitchen and stopped. “You don’t want them?”

He wore jeans, Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers, and an ironed button-down white shirt. Blond hair, neatly parted to one side, ran to curls at the back of his neck. And he still had that great smile—crooked, embarrassed now, but cute nonetheless. He looked like a surfer, except his ice-blue eyes hinted at nervousness.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she said.

“Really?”

“Have a seat. Want a beer?”

“Ever hear me turn one down?”

She took two bottles of Heineken from a cardboard six-pack container in the fridge, set them on the table in front of Dye, and fumbled through the silverware drawer for the bottle opener. When she handed Dye the opener, she took a vase from the cupboard and fixed the flowers in it.

“How old is Tommy now?”

“Seven.”

“You’ve done a lot with your life,” he said.

She sipped her beer, not sure where he was headed.

“Traveled, lived away, came back,” he went on. “I’ve never left.”

“Don’t be so harsh. You’ve got a master’s, a career that matters.”

Overhead, floorboards creaked. She hoped Lois didn’t come down.

“Peyton, I wanted to say I’m sorry for kissing you. It was stupid. I—”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Huh?”

“Kissing me wasn’t stupid, Pete.”

He looked at her. She reached for her beer.

Where the hell had that statement come from? Unfortunately, saying what she meant had never been a problem for her.

She drank some beer and cleared her throat. “The flowers are lovely, Pete. Thanks very much.”

He drank some beer and sat looking at her. “What did you mean?” he asked.

“The flowers,” she said.

“Not that. The kiss wasn’t stupid?”

Leave it to Pete Dye, with his damned cute crooked smile and surfer’s blond hair, to ask her to elaborate.

“The kiss wasn’t necessarily stupid,” Peyton said, “
if
you understand my situation.”

He looked at her, bewildered.

She made it easy for him: “I have a son who comes first in all of my decisions.”

Upstairs, Lois started to sing “New York, New York,” the high notes, once again, nearly a screech. Peyton waited for Pete to respond. But he was distracted, looking to the stairs, listening to Lois’s off-tune squeal. When he turned back to Peyton, he started to chuckle. She did, too. After several moments, they fell silent again.

Then he said, “Remember that night at Madawaska Lake?”

She’d been remembering it since Jeff had left her. It had been July before her senior year at U-Maine. A warm breeze blew off the lake, keeping the black flies at bay. Jeff had driven Elise and Peyton to the party in his new Jeep. When he let Peyton drive that night, steering toward an orange sunset as if leaping into a flame, she’d fallen in love with Wranglers—the top down, her hair dancing with the wind. Later that night, amid a bonfire and beer buzz, the three of them had gotten separated. She’d ended up beside Pete Dye at the end of the dock, their feet dangling into the water. Pete had leaned in to kiss her then, but that time, more than a decade earlier, she’d withdrawn. She hadn’t been engaged but was with Jeff and was loyal. For years she had wondered what might have been.

“I remember that night,” she said. “You’re a good person, and you’ve been a good friend for as long as I can remember. God, we were like brother and sister in high school. But I’m a single mother. I’ve got responsibilities you don’t have. Tommy comes first in every decision I make.”

“I understand that,” he said.

“You’re also a player, Pete, and I’m not about to be played.”

Outside, tires crunched on the dirt driveway.

“Peyton, I went to your wedding because I was invited, but I hated every second of it. I can’t talk like a salesman like Jeff. I won’t ever have his money because I like teaching. But that night, on that dock, when you pulled back, and then the day I watched you get married, I … I felt like I’d lost you forever. Now you’re back, and I don’t want to lose you again. I really hoped we could give it a try—that is, if you’re at all interested.”

“I think I am,” she said, staring at him, mind racing, “but I’m not twenty years old anymore.”

“Neither am I.”

“And Tommy …”

“Comes first,” he said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“This has to move slowly.”

“Just talking about dinner and a movie, P.” He grinned that Goddamn adorable crooked smile again.

This time she smiled back.

“Dinner? Tomorrow?”

Before she could answer, Lois entered like a cyclone.

“Jeff is here, Peyton.”

Peyton felt the way she did moments after a long nap. “What?”

“Jeffrey McComb,” Lois repeated. “In typical fashion, he brought flowers.” She saw Dye. “Oh, hi, Peter. Didn’t know Peyton had company. And you brought flowers, too. That’s sweet,” she paused, “in your case.”

Dye was looking at the bouquet uneasily.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“You tell me. Jeff’s out in the living room. He says there’s a house you have to look at tonight because a doctor from Pennsylvania is viewing it first thing in the morning. He wants Tommy to see it, too, so he’s putting on sweatpants. Peter, would you like to join us?”

“You had a date,” Pete said to Peyton, “all this time?”

“Pete, it’s not like that.”

But he was already looking away. “I’ve got to go,” he said and stood quickly, turned his back to her, and walked out.

When Jeff McComb entered the kitchen, Peyton didn’t look in his direction. She was watching the back door close softly behind Pete Dye.