Lake of Tears (12 page)

“Huh?” The sheriff startled awake.

“Calm down. Claire’s here to see you. Isn’t that nice?”

“Just doing her job,” he said, although Claire could tell he was pleased. He turned to her, his eyes watery. “How’s it going?”

“Well, I do need your help.”

He pushed himself up in bed and wiped at his face. “With what? You’re in charge.”

“I know, but you still know the territory a lot better than I do.” Claire told him about the bones that had been found in the Burning Boat, Tammy Lee Johansen gone missing, then the discovery that they were one and the same.

“Never heard of such a thing,” he said.

“Well, it might have gone unnoticed if the kids hadn’t put pots in the boat for a school project.”

“So you think he just wanted to get rid of the body. Why not throw her in the river?”

“Remember a few years ago, the body that was floating by Point No Point? I think people now know that isn’t a foolproof way.”

“Well, dig a frickin’ hole, then. Why go to the trouble of putting her in the boat?”

“I’m hoping to find out. She was engaged to be married to Terry Whitman, works for the railroad. You heard of him?”

“Yeah, he’s not from the area. We’ve heard he’s been in a fight or two, but no one’s pressed charges. But let’s say it’s established that he has a temper.”

“Well, the other suspect at the moment unfortunately is our own Deputy Andrew Stickler.”

“What? How’s he messed up in this?”

“I guess he was going out with Tammy Lee before he joined the service.” Claire had decided that she didn’t need to mention who Andrew had been dating most recently.

“I don’t know this Tammy Lee, but if she was dating Terry, then Andrew just doesn’t seem her type.”

“Who knows. They were just out of high school. I’m concerned about how to handle it with Andrew. Should I ask him to take a leave?”

“One thing at a time, Claire. He have an alibi for time of death?”

“Well, the time of death is rather broad. We know Tammy was alive early on Friday and the boat was burned on Saturday evening. However, there was a lot of activity in the park all afternoon—so she was probably killed either Friday night or early Saturday morning.”

“This Whitman guy? Where was he?”

“He got off work around eight Friday night. He claims he went home and hit the hay. Would make sense, since he was working an eight-day shift, but maybe Tammy Lee was waiting for him at his house.”

“What about Andrew?”

“You know he’s still staying with his folks. He says that he watched some TV with them and then they all went off to bed. So who knows. He could have snuck out after that. There has been some contact between Andrew and Tammy Lee since he’s come back. I’m not sure how much or what it means.”

“Yeah.” The sheriff rubbed his jawline, which was rough with stubble.

“When you hired him, did you get his service record?”

“Sure. I mean, Andrew’s a good guy. He even got some sort of medal for courage in the line of duty. Something bad went down when he was fighting over there and a couple guys got killed, but he saved a guy’s life. I didn’t read it all—but it’s in the report they sent us.”

Claire hadn’t known that, and she took it in. Andrew did seem like a good guy. Maybe she had been too hard on him.

“I’d keep looking at Terry if I were you,” he said.

“Oh, I intend to, sir, but I don’t want to overlook anything.”

“Not worried about you doing that, Claire. Sounds like you’ve got things under control.”

“Thanks,” she said as a nurse wheeled in a tray: broth in a bowl, a fruit cup, and skim milk. “I don’t think I’ll be staying for lunch.”

“Go eat a hamburger for me,” the sheriff said.

“Good luck, sir, with your surgery.”

He waved his hand at her. “They’re going to fix me up just fine.”

Doug remembered the smell of the old barn, fermenting hay, old wood, and a tang of rusting metal. When he was a kid it had been a working barn, used for the cows and for his granddad’s workshop. Now the roof was starting to sag and the sides were weathered almost silver-gray where the paint had worn off. He wondered how much longer it would last.

Maybe longer than him.

He sat down on a bale of hay and thought about how he would do this thing he planned on doing. He had been working on the plan for so long—it’s what kept him going—and now it was going to happen and then where would he be?

He shook himself, like a horse shakes the flies from its neck. Thoughts were like pesky insects, biting in places you couldn’t reach. Put one foot in front of the other, like his granddad used to say. And look where it got him. Killed one day when the tractor backed up over him. Grandma just shook her head, said she thought he loved the tractor as much he loved anything. Now look what happened, she said.

Doug was only six and they didn’t let him go to the funeral. He had walked around the farm, putting one foot in front of the other, while the tractor sat out by the end of the driveway with a For Sale sign hanging on the radiator.

After that, Grandma sold off pieces of the farm when she needed money. Now all she had left was the house and the falling-down barn.

When Doug had joined the service, he had taken out an insurance policy in his grandmother’s name. He figured it was the least he could do. No one else was watching out for her.

He walked over to the tool chest that Granddad had built into the side of the barn. Not much of a carpenter; it was a rather shabby affair with a few assorted tools left in it. But there was a secret compartment built behind it that he had seen Granddad put the gun in one day, nearly twenty years ago. He was counting on it still being there.

Pulling out the board, he saw that something was in there, wrapped up in an old pillowcase. When he lifted the object out of its hiding place, it was heavy and hard, cold from years of neglect.

Turning back the pillowcase, he saw the barrel of the old gun. It was smaller than he remembered it. When he was a kid, the gun had looked huge and so powerful. He almost laughed to look at it now. Puny.

When he thought of what he had been shooting with in Afghanistan, this was like a slingshot. He closed the chest, sat on the top of it, and looked the gun over. Not big, but a solid piece of work. It needed to be cleaned up and oiled, but it would do the trick.

When he walked into the kitchen with the gun in his hands, Grandma had looked at the gun and then him and said, “What you fixing to shoot?”

He laid it on the table. “Pheasant. You want to fix me up some pheasant?”

“Might could do.”

“We’ll have us a feast tonight.”

Claire didn’t know the Sticklers very well. She had met them once or twice, but they were pretty quiet people, farmers, and didn’t get in any trouble. She hated to bother them about Andrew, but it had to be done.

She could have sent Amy—after all, Claire was the sheriff now and should be sticking around the department more than she was—but she felt like this was her call. She wanted this interview to be handled just right. Andrew wasn’t telling her everything, and she needed to know what he was keeping from her.

The farmhouse was set back a good distance from the road, with a stand of pine trees growing on the north side of the house, a solid windbreak. The house was an old four-square with a front porch, probably built at the turn of the last century, a big front door right in the middle of it.

But as with most houses, the door that was used the most was around the back and led into the kitchen. Claire parked so that she wasn’t blocking the driveway and knocked on the back door. No answer, but there was a truck and a Buick LeSabre parked next to each other. Someone should be home.

Claire knocked again, tried the door and found it open. She was just about to walk in when Mrs. Stickler came to the door. Although her hair was streaked with gray, she moved like a younger woman, full of energy. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt that had a horse on it, and had a laundry basket propped on her hip. “Sorry. I was in the basement, doing the wash.” Her face blanched. “Andrew okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine. Mind if I come in?”

Mrs. Stickler scooted back out of the way and showed Claire to a chair at the kitchen table. “We’re so glad to have him back, and now with this good job and everything … well, I just can’t tell you.”

Claire could imagine. Just thinking of Meg going away to college was turning her upside down, but to send your child around the world to fight in a war where he might get killed? Too much to ask.

“And we’re glad to have him. He’s a great addition to the force,” Claire said, and was surprised how rote she sounded. “But I’m going to have ask you a few questions about his whereabouts the other night.”

“What night?” Mrs. Stickler sank into a chair opposite Claire.

“Friday night.”

“Oh, we were all here. Watching some TV. Clarence and I try to make it to the news. Doesn’t always happen, but then we went to bed.”

“Andrew too?”

“Well, I suppose. He stayed on in the living room. Lets us use the bathroom first, you know. I thought I heard him come upstairs. Hard to be sure. Some nights I just go out like a light. But where would he go?”

“Does he ever just go out for a drink?”

“Not much. Most of his old friends aren’t around anymore. Plus, he doesn’t like to drink if he’s gotta work the next day. He’s real conscientious that way.”

“You know Tammy Lee Johansen, Mrs. Stickler?”

“Sure I know her. Since she was a little girl. Andrew and she were real close for a while, but it was hard when he went off. I think they stayed in touch. I’m not quite sure what happened there.”

“Well, I’m sorry to tell you, but Tammy died on Friday night.”

“Oh no.” Mrs. Stickler brought her hands up to her mouth. “Car accident? She drinks a lot, I know.”

“No, unfortunately someone hit her and killed her.”

Mrs. Stickler stood up as if she’d been shot. “Not Andrew,” she said in a wail. “Never would he do that.”

“I’m not saying he did. I’m just checking on things. According to Tammy Lee’s sister, they’d seen each other.”

“Yes, that’s right. I think Andrew ran into her at a bar, and Tammy did call here once or twice recently, asking for Andrew. I didn’t think too much of it. I heard she’s engaged to be married to some railroad guy.”

“Do you know if Andrew and she got together?”

“Not that I know of—but I don’t keep track of Andrew’s goings-on. It’s not easy on him, living back at home at his age, but he’s saving up to buy a house. I told him he can come and go as he pleases, just to be quiet if it’s too late.”

Just then Mr. Stickler walked in, a solid man wearing a barn coat and a John Deere hat. “Andrew here?”

Claire stood up and shook his hand. “No, I’m Claire Watkins.” Then she made herself say it: “Acting sheriff.”

“That so?” He took off his hat and she saw the white line across his forehead: farmer’s tan. “What can we do for you?”

“She was just asking about Andrew. That poor Tammy Lee was killed,” Mrs. Stickler broke in. “I told her Andrew was home with us on Friday night.”

Mr. Stickler nodded slowly. “That’s right. We all went to bed after the news. Same as usual.”

“He couldn’t have gone out again?” Claire asked.

“Might have, but I doubt it. I don’t sleep that sound anymore. But some nights he don’t sleep so well either. He gets up and goes for a walk. It’s been hard on him, being back here, readjusting.”

“Has he seen Tammy Lee, as far as you know?”

“Don’t really know. But if he did, it was just for old times’ sake. He had just starting going out with some new girl—seemed to be quite interested in her. Guess she’s smart as a whip. Didn’t say who she was.”

Claire felt a jolt as she realized who they were talking about. She thanked them and walked toward the door.

Mrs. Stickler said, “Sorry to hear about Tammy Lee. She wasn’t a bad girl—just had a lot of gumption. She would have settled down, I’m sure.”

Meg sat on the edge of her bed with the phone in her hand. She was going to call Andrew and tell him she wanted to see him tonight. Even though she knew they shouldn’t meet.

She put the phone down and wiped tears away. It felt like someone else was being taken away from her before she even had a chance to know him. Like her dad. She picked up the last picture she had of her father before he was killed.