False Impressions (28 page)

Mitch drove April home. The sun was just coming up, casting
a rosy glow. The snow glittered and sparkled. A fresh coat overnight had turned the fields fresh and pretty again. When they turned down the road leading to the barn, April let out a cry. Smoke was rising from the spot the barn had occupied.

They couldn’t get close to the place. Fire trucks littered the drive. Early risers had stopped along the street and watched from their cars. Even at this hour, word had spread.

They parked in the street. The driveway to the barn was a couple of hundred yards behind them. From here, April couldn’t see the barn. She could smell the fire, though. Ashes swirled in the air and lay over the snow like cinnamon. Icicles formed in the trees from the fire hoses. The landscape looked like something from a horror flick.

The chief approached them. “There’s not much left,” Chief Islington said.

April swallowed hard. “Did you find Grizz and Charlotte?”

He nodded.

“We left them sleeping last night. They were exhausted from their day.”

“They died without knowing what hit them.”

April stopped him with a wave of her hand. Her stomach suddenly clenched, doubling her over with the pain. She heaved, unable to control the spasms that rose from her inside. Mitch held her hair back, but nothing came up but painful hiccups.

When she regained her composure, Chief Islington was indicating that they follow him. She grabbed Mitch’s hand. The barn was usually visible as soon as they went around the curve in the driveway.

“Are you sure you want to see this?” Mitch said.

“I need to be able to tell Vince I was here. For him.” She looked up where the barn had stood. The sky instead was wide and empty. “For them.”

The barn was a heap of rubble. The river rock that made up the foundation and the fireplace lay scattered across the yard, tossed away from the house as if they’d been hollow. The beautiful clapboard that once graced a barn in Massachusetts looked like a pile of pickup sticks. April’s heart ached for her father. And Vince.

“Enough,” April croaked. She walked back to Mitch’s car. She got inside. He turned it on to keep her warm. Rocky knocked on the window. She was carrying a huge thermos of coffee for the firefighters. Suzi arrived with coffee cake and donuts. Deana and Mark were close behind with a portable table, which they set up in the drive. Mitch joined them to help set up.

Deana pulled April out of the car for a hug, and April’s tears flowed freely. Mark put his arm around his wife, drawing all the women into his solid embrace.

April felt strength returning to her core. These good people would help her weather this. She would need all of them in the coming weeks. She broke off the hug.

April turned to her friend. “Deana, will you tend to the Campbells? I’m sure Vince would want you to. He and Dad will be flying in later.”

“Of course,” she said.

“I’m available for an airport run,” Mark said quickly. “Just send me their flight information.”

They huddled around Mitch’s car, trying to keep warm and out of the way of the firemen and state police coming and going.

Logan was in the crowd of people that had gathered by the end of the driveway. He came forward to talk to April, his young face creased. He seemed to be trying hard. She felt for him. Comforting people who’d had a great loss was not something he’d had much practice in.

“Kit wanted to come,” he said. “She’s at my mother’s, feeding the babies. Certain things I can’t do. She wanted to know you were okay.”

“Thanks, tell her I’m dealing.”

A state trooper approached April and asked to speak to her. He moved her out of earshot from the crowd. She felt Mitch’s eyes on her and heard Rocky questioning him.

“Are you the owner of the property?”

She shook her head. “My father, Ed Buchert, and his partner, Vince Campbell, are.”

He wrote in his small notebook. “How long have you lived there?”

“About seven months.”

“Do you know what’s in the shed?”

Mitch took a step forward. The policeman held up a hand. Mitch backed off, moving behind April. She felt a supporting hand on the small of her back and leaned into it.

“What are you talking about?”

“We found evidence of an illegal drug lab,” he said. “Propane tanks, blister packs from cold medications.”

April rocked forward on her toes. Her fists tightened. “Of course we had a gas grill. Who doesn’t?”

“Ma’am, I need you to calm down.”

“How can I?” she said angrily. “There was nothing like that in there.”

The chief stepped in. “Listen, we’ve got a long way to go before we determine if this was an accident or deliberate. It’s too soon to tell right now. I’ve known Ms. Buchert and her family a long time. Let’s not throw around any accusations.”

The trooper backed down. Had he expected her to confess? Maybe he wanted to see her face when accused. He’d picked up on something in April. Her guilt at leaving the Campbells alone last night.

“All right. I’ll coordinate with the Aldenville police. Until we figure out the cause of the explosion, don’t leave town. Leave word with us as to where you’re staying.”

April walked away, waving off her friends’ protests and Mitch’s pleading looks. She walked hard and fast. Where
was
she going to go? She had nothing but the clothes on her back. Her car was destroyed. Her stamp collection. Her tools. Her livelihood.

She sat down on the cold, hard ground and wept. Her tears felt scorching hot, burning her cheeks.

Mitch found her and pulled her to her feet. He put his hand underneath her coat and rubbed her back fiercely. She let him gather her close, and she held on to him.

Their respite was short.

“Where were you last night?” Henry Yost appeared in front of them. April’s tears came harder. He was the last person she wanted to see. She couldn’t bear to see him taking pleasure in her misery. She kept her face buried in Mitch’s shoulder.

“She was with me, Henry,” Mitch said. His hand didn’t stop its circular motion.

“Charlotte must have left the gas on. Pity those two old folks were all alone.”

He didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. April pulled away from Mitch. She’d never had the desire to spit in someone’s face, but Yost was asking for it. She felt saliva build in her mouth.

She forced herself to look away from Yost. Charlotte wouldn’t want her to be that rude. She concentrated on the landscape beyond him and waited for him to tire of baiting her and go away.

Beyond his Smokey the Bear trooper-wannabe hat, April saw a car slow down in the housing development that abutted the barn. The street had a clear view of her ruins. The yellow and black Torino came to a stop. The driver got out and put his hands on the roof. The passenger leaned out of the window.

She recognized the orange coat. Violet. Did Violet have something to do with this? April needed to talk to her.

April reached into Mitch’s coat pocket and whispered, “Your keys.” Her fingers scrabbled, coming up with nothing.

“What?” he said, already patting his pants, coming up empty. “In the ignition.”

Ignoring both men’s questioning gazes, she raced up the drive to Mitch’s Jeep, happy to see he hadn’t been parked in by firefighters or gawkers. She maneuvered the car out, jamming it into four-wheel drive for better traction.

She made a right onto the road and another right into the development. It consisted of only about a dozen homes, built in the mid-eighties. A giant cul-de-sac with one road in and out, shaped like half a racetrack.

April roared down the street, not finding second gear, double-clutching into third to knock down the rpms. The Torino was gone. She had just missed her.

She knew where to look for her. She took the road out to Main Street to the Wysockis’ Victorian. There was no sign of the car. April climbed out of the Jeep and banged on the front door anyway.

Mrs. Wysocki came to the door wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. April could smell cinnamon buns baking, joined by undertones of coffee and bacon. She’d forgotten that it was a normal Sunday morning for most folks. She was so far away from that comforting routine of newspapers and multiple cups of coffee today.

“Where’s Violet?” she asked. Mrs. Wysocki’s step backwards told her she needed to moderate her tone. She dialed her urgency back a notch. “I need to speak with her.”

“Come in,” Mrs. Wysocki said, tucking the towel into her apron. “She just went out. She’ll be back in a few minutes.”

April followed her into her kitchen. Mrs. Wysocki had a small under-the-cabinet TV with the local news on and the sound off. Across the bottom, in the crawl, was news of the explosion. April turned away quickly. She couldn’t bear to look.

Mrs. Wysocki had seen it. She took up a position by the stove. The linoleum in front of it had a worn spot. A matching one was in front of the sink. “I’m sorry about the loss of your home,” she said stiffly. “Have you eaten anything? Some toast? Coffee? Stay for a minute. Doctor will be down in a minute, and I’m sure he’ll want to see you.”

April’s stomach growled. She was nauseated from the rush of adrenaline that was slowly leaving her system now. She sheepishly took a piece of toast from the woman, who sat her down at the breakfast counter. There were four plates set. A dozen eggs were on the counter, some of them already cracked into the bowl. Mrs. Wysocki was expecting two more for breakfast. Violet and her boyfriend.

The room was too warm, windows steamed from the baking. April bit into the toast. She was light-headed from the rush over here. A sense of disorientation took over. She could have been in Bonnie’s kitchen, so familiar was this room to her.

Dr. Wysocki came in, his hair wet from the shower. He was wearing a pair of khakis and a well-pressed plaid flannel shirt. He was surprised to see her.

He glanced at the TV and she knew he knew. “I’m sorry about the barn. You okay? The Campbells?”

She shook her head. Mrs. Wysocki drew in a quick breath, and her husband moved close and put his arm around her.

April continued, “Someone made it look like a meth lab exploded.”

“Not Violet.” Mrs. Wysocki closed her eyes, her hand covering her bosom, like a woman in a silent movie. The dish towel acting as the lace hanky. This wasn’t melodrama, though. She was truly heartsick.

“She’s the only meth addict I know.”

“Former meth addict,” Dr. Wysocki said automatically, without his usual conviction. Mrs. Wysocki’s hand fluttered.

April scowled. “What about her boyfriend?”

“She doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Mrs. Wysocki said.

April saw the recognition flash over Dr. Wysocki’s face. “They would never . . .”

“Tell me where he lives.”

“She doesn’t have a boyfriend,” the mother said, her voice breaking. “Honestly.”

“Please,” April begged.

“It’s not a boyfriend,” Dr. Wysocki said with authority. “It’s that woman. Paula something or other.”

From the Anvil group. That’s who owned the Torino. She’d just assumed it was a guy. “Where does she live?”

“I don’t know.”

“I might . . . I did.” Mrs. Wysocki turned away and rummaged through a tiered wicker basket on the counter. April saw PP&L bills and a notice from the water company. Mrs. Wysocki went through the pile twice before she dumped the contents onto the counter. Finally she found what she needed.

“Violet had me pick up some things at Costco for her a few months ago. Paper towels, that kind of thing. She drew me a map to Paula’s house. I saved it in case I had to go back.”

She produced a wrinkled piece of notebook paper, raggedly torn loose, and laid it in front of April. The main highway was sketched on it, and arrows indicated turns onto small roads. No names of the roads or an address.

“What’s this?” April asked, pointing to a round circle that seemed to be a landmark.

“A silo,” she answered.

Great. Silos were everywhere.

“What about this?” The initials RM were just above a turn arrow.

“Oh, I remember. She said I should turn at Redneck Mike’s place.”

Redneck Mike’s was a well-known landmark in the valley. In the last century it had been a tavern, a stop for weary travelers. Now it was just a broken-down bar at a cross-roads. April knew right where it was.

Dr. Wysocki had a strange look on his face. “What else did you buy for them, Celia?”

His wife was puzzled. “I don’t remember. Coffee filters. That was when she had such a bad cold. I had to sign for some kind of medicine for her, too.”

Dr. Wysocki’s face sagged. All things used to make meth.

She grabbed the makeshift map and raced for the door. “I’ll try to send Violet back to you.”

Mrs. Wysocki made a noise that sounded like a sob. April glanced back to see Dr. Wysocki take his wife in his arms. Their breakfast company wasn’t coming any time soon. April’s heart broke a little. Mrs. Wysocki wasn’t that different from Bonnie, or Charlotte, for that matter. Women whose kitchen was their domain. The domestic goddesses making their family a comfortable home. A nest, a safe haven. But it hadn’t been enough to save her daughter.

April’s phone was ringing. Mitch had called several times. She couldn’t talk to him just now. She wasn’t going to waste any more time. She sent him a text. “I’m OK. B back soon.” That would have to do for now.

The church parking lots were full as April sped down Main Street. Yost was back at the barn, not available to ticket her. She floored Mitch’s Jeep and was rewarded with a yip from the tires as she pulled out onto Route 93.

The road was free of traffic. She kept an eye out for Paula’s Torino. Where had she and Violet gone? April wondered if Paula had been the woman at the pharmacy.

Passing the snow-covered fields, April felt as alone and desolate as they looked. She’d gotten the Campbells killed.