Love Me If You Must (22 page)

 
38

I twisted the knob that led to the cellar and pushed the door open. I stood silent at the top of the steps.

No voice called. No presence pulled at me.

I flicked the switch, adding a yellow glow to gray late-morning light. I ducked under the single strand of police tape and stepped down into the dimness, ready to do what I should have done weeks ago.

The air grew colder as I reached the basement floor. Prickles ran over my skin.

I hadn’t been down here since the night my furnace had gone out. I could make out a shoe tread here and there on the dirty concrete, left over from the investigators. No doubt some of the tracks belonged to Officer Brad.

I drew near the cistern. Dietz’s blood still encrusted the rock.

I shuffled closer to the stony crescent. I set the hammer and chisel on the flat ledge above, then started my climb up the face of rocks. I made it to the top and slung my knee over, clinging with one hand while I turned on the flashlight with the other.

I aimed the light into the hole, where daylight from the adjacent window couldn’t reach. I don’t know what I had expected. Maybe a body. Maybe the outline of a body. But all I saw was a dark patch on lumpy white concrete. The stain of Dietz’s blood.

I slid down the interior and grabbed my tools off the ledge.

My feet felt tingly, as if I’d accidentally stepped on a grave at the cemetery.

“Sorry, Rebecca,” I whispered. There was no way to avoid walking on the body beneath me. The cistern simply wasn’t big enough.

I set the tools down, then crouched on the cement, trying to remember the angle her body had lain when I’d seen it so clearly that day in October.

I ran the flashlight over the lumps. One bulge caught my attention. I squinted, trying to picture a splayed palm or a clenched fist beneath the surface.

I set the flashlight on the concrete and picked up the hammer. I angled the chisel and gave it a tap. I jumped at the sound of metal on metal. From the corner of my eye, I caught movement and jerked around.

I fell backward, gasping and half laughing at myself for being afraid of my own shadow, projected by the flashlight onto the cistern wall.

I angled the light away from the ledge and into the corner. That way I wouldn’t think someone was peering over the top at me every time I lifted the hammer.

I rubbed at the floor. The chisel had left only a small indentation in the cement. I sighed. This was a bigger job than I’d imagined.

I tapped away, eager to get the task done, but not so eager to do something I’d regret, like clip off a finger—
either mine or Rebecca’s.

I blew back my bangs and hit the chisel again. The things I’d been reduced to. Here I was grave robbing instead of home designing.

I gave the chisel a mighty whack, then blew back the dust to check my progress. I’d been working around ten minutes already, but there were only a few cement chips to show for it.

I turned my back to the ledge and tried a new angle. If there were something under the cement, I’d bump into it eventually.

I chipped away, wondering if maybe the real trouble with my life had started when I’d finally rebelled against my grandmother. “Honor your father and mother,” the Bible said. I supposed that meant grandmothers too, when she was the one raising you. Maybe my life would have gone better if I’d done things her way.

That fateful night my senior year popped to mind. I had left work around six thirty, sick to my stomach at the thought of facing my grandmother. Rush hour in Walled Lake ended right about the time I got into my rust-bucket gold Granada. It was a waste to get on the roads before half past six, since they were packed with traffic trying to navigate the winding, narrow passages that led between the numerous lakes in the area.

I pulled into the yard of our tiny lakeside bungalow. The slam of my car door echoed in the still of early evening. A neighbor dog barked. I looked up at the few stars that penetrated the glow of suburbia and fought the knot that twisted my guts. I couldn’t put it off forever. I had to tell her.

We sat down to our usual four-course supper.

“Wish you could get home early once in a while. My arthritis is acting up, and that salad didn’t chop itself, you know.”

I stared past Grandma at the collection of salt-and-pepper shakers from around the world. Gram herself had never left Walled Lake, but her globe-trotting friends always remembered her in their travels.

“What’s for supper tomorrow? I’ll help you chop it up tonight,” I said.

“We’ll probably just have leftovers. I’m too tired to be cooking like this all the time.” She plopped food on our plates.

“I can bring something home from the store,” I said. “You know you don’t have to cook all the time. It’s just us two. And I can fix myself something, Gram. I’m big now.” I smiled, but the nerves in my stomach pulled tight as I geared up to tell her the news.

I told her. She sat silent for a moment. Scary silent. I chewed and swallowed, waiting for a response. I didn’t have to wait long.

“You’re not running off to any university. You’re staying here and taking classes at the community college.” Grandma slammed her fork like a gavel on the supper table.

“Gram, you know it’s what I’ve always wanted. And it’s paid for. I’d have to work twice as hard for half the education if I went locally.”

“Your mother went to community college and turned out just fine.” Gram gripped both sides of her plate. I knew from her taut lips and gleaming eyes that she’d fight until I gave in.

“Mom was married at twenty years old. To a guy who left. Maybe she should have set her goals a little higher,” I said.

Gram’s face contorted and she rose from her seat, leaning over the table toward me. “Don’t you say those things. Your mother was a good girl. She never did anything wrong.” She poked a finger to her chest. “She always listened to me.”

I took a bite of my acorn squash. “Mom’s dead, Gram. She killed herself. Remember? Is that how you want me to end up?”

“That’s how you’ll end up if you go to that university. What do you think happens to girls there? They’re used up and lied to. There’s drugs and sex and alcohol. Is that how you want to start your life? You want to know those people? You want to associate with those people?” Grandma’s arms quivered as she pressed against the table.

“Those same people are everywhere, Gram.” My voice softened. “I know you worry about me, but I’m not like that. I’m not going to be in that crowd.”

“Tisher,” Gram said, using her pet name for me. Her eyes teared up. She sat back in her chair and covered her face. “You’ve got a good job already. You know everybody here. Why do this?”

“I don’t want to be a checkout girl at the Foodliner the rest of my life, Gram. This is my chance to do something big. Change the world.”

“You don’t know how the world is. You don’t know how bad it can be.”

“Then maybe it’s time I found out.”

“They’ll ruin you. You’ll think they’re your friends, but they want you to die. And they’ll help you do it.”

I crouched by her chair and buried my head against her arm, patting her back. “No, Gram, no. I’ll be okay. I’m not afraid. What do you always tell me? God’s watching over me.”

She grabbed my hand and squeezed hard. “I’ll help you stay on God’s good side. I couldn’t bear to lose you too.” Tears coursed down her face.

“Shh. You’re not going to lose me. I’ll always be here for you.”

“Then you’re not going?” Gram looked up, victory in her eyes.

“I’m going.” I kept my voice firm. “Lansing is only an hour away. I’ll come home every chance I get. You know I can’t pass up your stuffed peppers.” I smiled to ease the blow.

“God’s going to punish you,” she whispered.

 
39

The hammer hit the side of my hand. I flinched and sat up on the hard concrete floor, sucking the skin to stop the sting. In my side vision, the light from the basement window dimmed momentarily, as if someone had just walked past.

I froze, listening. The thump of feet up the back steps blended with the pounding of my heart. What if it was David, coming back to finish me off? I was already in the grave. All he had to do was conk me in the head like he had Martin Dietz, throw a little concrete on top, and no one would be the wiser.

I didn’t want to make it that easy for him.

A knock sounded on the back door.

Maybe it wasn’t David. I couldn’t imagine him being so courteous after my intrusion earlier today.

I picked my way out of the cistern and jumped off the ledge onto the basement floor. A twinge in my ankle reminded me of my lingering injury. I hurried upstairs despite a throbbing ache, brushing the concrete dust from my knees along the way. If the murderer figured out I was excavating last year’s kill, I’d be joining Rebecca permanently in the cistern.

I turned the corner at the top of the steps and gulped to see Officer Brad, in uniform, standing at the back door.

My shoulders sagged. I’d been so close to proving my body-in-the-basement theory. If only Brad had come a couple hours later. Instead, I’d be carted off to jail just a few wallops shy of proof that I hadn’t killed Martin Dietz.

I slumped across the kitchen and opened the door.

Brad looked great in police blue. Everything shone right down to his boots.

“I’ll just grab my toothbrush,” I said and turned to go.

“Wait. Why?” The gravelly sound of his voice grabbed at my heartstrings. Pressure built in my temples as I tried not to cry for what might have been, what could have been.

“Aren’t you picking me up?”

“Did you need to go somewhere?”

“No. I thought you were taking me back to jail.”

“Oh. That. No. I was just doing my rounds and wanted to check in on you. Make sure you were safe.” He smiled. “No more dead bodies or leg injuries. That kind of stuff.”

I stared at the lines in the corners of his eyes. “I’m okay. I guess.”

My heart raced. Maybe Brad could help me. Maybe if I told him what I’d found in David’s garage, he’d believe me that Rebecca was buried in my basement.

“Do you want to come in a minute?” I asked.

He shifted his weight. “Sure. I’d like to see that everything’s secure.” He came in the kitchen. “After all, if you didn’t kill Dietz, someone else did. And I’d hate for you to be the next victim.”

“Thanks. I’d rather not be the next victim. Care for some water?” I loved my dispensing unit. No worries about arsenic poisoning for me.

Brad walked to the machine and helped himself to a cup. He took a sip, then scrunched up his nose. “Smells a little funny. I think I like the tap better.”

“Just be careful. You don’t want death by heavy metal. That’s what arsenic is, you know.”

He pitched his water in the sink and filled his cup from the faucet. He took a swig. “That’s better.”

“Whatever.” I sipped my tasteless, odorless, filtered beverage, wondering what he had up his nose.

We talked about the snowstorm the weatherman called for while I avoided his eyes.

He set his cup down. “I’m going to take a quick look around.” He headed for the cellar.

“Oh, no.” I waved my hands and raced toward him. “No, you don’t need to check anything. That door stays locked.” I grabbed his arm, immediately sorry to have touched him. I put my hands in my jeans pockets.

“Okay. I’ll just check around outside.” Brad headed toward the back door.

“Great. I’ll go with you.” I slipped on my coat and followed him into the yard. The air was icy, a welcome change from the heat inside.

Brad walked around the front first.

“So have you heard from Rebecca lately?” I asked in a casual voice.

Brad stopped his inspection and looked at me. “I told you, we don’t correspond.”

I waved my hand. “I just wondered if there was any juicy gossip now that the divorce is final.”

His jaw clenched. “You would know more about that than me.” He turned the corner onto the driveway, checking out the upstairs windows.

“I was talking to Dorothy the other day, and she made it sound like you and Rebecca were pretty close.” Not entirely accurate, but Brad could call my bluff.

Brad smirked. “Rebecca liked me close, all right. Every chance she had, she’d call the station for assistance. And request me by name.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. The chief thought it was pretty funny. I caught a lot of flack from the guys. No one was under the illusion that she actually had feelings for me.”

“No one but you?” I whispered.

Brad stared at the ground. “I knew better. I really did. But I guess when a woman throws herself at you like that, you can lie to yourself to make it seem like more than it really is.”

“Did you love her?”

“I guess I loved what she could be. She’s beautiful, smart, talented. But her heart is . . . I don’t know. Warped or something.” He gave a sheepish smile. “It’s foolish to try to fix people, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I guess it is.”

“Anyway, Rebecca’s gone. Only God can fix her now.”

His words shook me for a minute. “Oh, you mean gone to L.A.,” I said.

He squinted at me. “What did you think I meant?”

I gave a nervous giggle. “Oh, nothing.” I rubbed my arms against the chill.

We got to the back corner of the house. “Look,” I said pointing to a circle of gravel. “That’s the dry well they put in last year.” The dry well consisted of a three-foot-diameter by seven-foot-deep hole filled with gravel. All the drain tile on the exterior of the house, as well as the new sump pump, emptied into the well, preventing the basement from flooding again.

“I know. I worked on the project, remember?” Brad said.

“You worked on it? I thought you were just called in to baby-sit when Dietz went ballistic.”

“I did my share of hard labor. Rick and Jan were good neighbors. I didn’t mind helping out around this place when I could.”

“Really? How come Jack didn’t mention it?”

“Because he’s Jack. Besides, he was probably embarrassed. Half the time I was called out to David and Rebecca’s renovation project was because Jack was hanging around Rebecca and she wanted him out of there. Jack probably blames me that he didn’t get very far with her.” Brad grinned.

“How far did you get with her?” Yeah, I was jealous in a juvenile way.

“Far enough to ask her to go to church with me.”

“Did she?”

“Turned me down flat. Once she quit laughing.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch. But that’s good. I shouldn’t have been going that route. Some people you just stay away from. I should have been like Joseph running from Potiphar’s wife. Instead, I got all wrapped up in trying to convert her. But if she wants to be dead, that’s not my problem.”

I took a step backward. “What do you mean, ‘dead’?”

“Spiritually dead. Sorry, too much Christianese.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What I mean is, she thinks she’s in control of things . . . and she’s not. It’s only a matter of time before she crash-lands.”

From everything Brad said, I figured Rebecca had already crash-landed—in the cistern. Her husband David had done a stellar job pretending Rebecca was still alive. But there was no doubt in my mind she was stone-cold dead.