The Bone House (13 page)

    Hilary
stood in front of the pink stone building and saw a police cruiser glide up to
the curb twenty feet away. The front passenger door opened, and she stiffened
with dismay as she recognized the woman climbing out.

    It
was Delia Fischer. Glory and Tresa's mother.

    Delia's
head swiveled as she looked up at the two-story building, and her eyes were
vacant, as if she was lost and overwhelmed. Her stare passed over Hilary
without recognition, and then, slowly, horribly, it came back and landed on her
and froze there. They confronted each other across the sidewalk. Hilary took
off her sunglasses and nodded at Delia. There was no point in pretending.

    Glory's
mother approached without saying a word. She was several inches shorter than
Hilary. She looked beaten and exhausted, with deep worry lines furrowed in her
brow and around her mouth. Her cheaply colored blond hair was tied in a
ponytail. She was rail-thin, a woman in her mid-forties who looked ten years
older than she was. She wore spiral earrings made from aluminum cans; that was
one of the eBay businesses she used to earn extra money in the off season. If
you weren't rich in Door County, you always had something going on the side to
make ends meet. Hilary had bought some of Delia's jewelry as a gesture of
friendship the previous year, before everything erupted over Tresa.

    Despite
their history with her, Hilary had never been able to hate Delia. She
understood the emotions that drove her. Delia was a single mother struggling
with two teenage girls, fiercely proud and protective. Hilary could easily
imagine the stunned fury Delia had felt in reading Tresa's diary, believing
that her child had been exploited and abused by a man she trusted. All of that
anger had landed on Mark's head, regardless of Tresa's denials. If Hilary had
been in her shoes, she probably would have done exactly what Delia did - launch
a crusade to destroy the man who had stolen her daughter's innocence.

    Hilary
didn't think that Delia had ever suffered a pang of doubt. She was convinced
she was right and would never believe otherwise. In her eyes, Mark was a child
molester who deserved the ostracism he'd received. Now, like a bad dream, he
was back in her life, violating her family again in an even more terrible way
than before.

    'Mrs
Fischer, I'm so sorry,' Hilary began. 'Mark and I—'

    
'Don't
you dare.''
Delia cut her off in a voice hoarse with bitterness. 'Don't you
dare defend him. Don't you dare speak his name in front of me.'

    'Mrs
Fischer, please. I understand your grief.'

    Delia's
cheeks flushed. 'You don't know the first thing about my grief, so don't
pretend that you do. Everyone says how smart and attractive you are, and all I
see is a woman who's a fool. You're married to a monster, and you won't admit
it to yourself. Maybe if you'd opened your eyes last year, my daughter would
still be alive.'

    'Mark
didn't do this,' Hilary told her, but she knew her words were useless, and she
almost regretted saying them.

    Delia
flinched, as if she might slap Hilary's face, but then she closed her eyes and
breathed heavily. When she opened her eyes again, Hilary felt a wave of
violence breaching the small space between them. The policeman coughed, like a
gentle warning to draw their attention, but Delia ignored him.

    'I
almost feel sorry for you,' Delia said, 'trying to convince yourself that he's
not evil. But then I think, you must know, and you just don't care. Because
you're
not
a fool, are you? You really are as smart as everyone says. So
I guess you've just decided you'll protect him regardless of what he's done.'

    Hilary
noticed that other people coming and going from the police building had begun
to stop and watch them. She felt a burn of embarrassment. It was familiar;
she'd learned to expect stares from strangers. She knew that Delia was lashing
out in pain and desperation, and she knew that there was no way for her to
bridge the divide between them. If anyone could comfort Delia, it wasn't her.
Her presence just made it worse.

    'I
should go,' Hilary told her. 'You may not believe me, and it doesn't matter,
but I'm very sorry about Glory. You're right, I can't understand your grief. I
can't imagine losing your daughter. It may mean nothing coming from me, but I'm
hurting for you. I really am.'

    Delia's
face was impassive. Hilary hadn't expected to reach her. The policeman
approached Delia and touched her elbow in order to guide her toward the door of
the building. Delia allowed herself to be led, but she pulled away abruptly and
jabbed a finger at Hilary's face.

    'Do
you have any idea what he took from me?' she shouted. 'Glory was my baby! I
almost lost her once, and I thought I got a second chance. But now I've lost
her all over again because of you and your husband. He took her away from me.
It wasn't enough what he did to Tresa. He had to go after my baby, too.'

    Hilary
said nothing. She stood there and let the woman vent her despair.

    'Mrs
Fischer,' the policeman murmured. 'Let's go inside.'

    'Well,
you know what?' Delia continued, screaming at Hilary now.

    'He's
not going to get away with it! I promise you that. Not again. This time I'm
going to make sure he pays for what he did to us!'

    Troy
Geier sat on a concrete bench in the lobby of the police building. His back was
slumped as he leaned forward, and his hands dangled between his thick thighs.
Tresa sat next to him, as straight as a board. They both watched the altercation
outside between Delia Fischer and Hilary Bradley, and the noise of Delia's
screaming cut through the glass windows, clear and shrill.

    Tresa
didn't look at Troy. 'You told my mom, didn't you? You told her you thought
that Mark did this.'

    'What
the hell was I supposed to say?' he muttered.

    'You
bastard. Mark would never hurt Glory.'

    Troy
blew out his breath in a disgusted sigh. 'Shit, Tresa, listen to yourself.
You're more concerned with your teacher boyfriend than you are with your
sister. Glory's dead, and you're still protecting him. What do you think? He's
going to leave his wife for you?'

    'You
don't know anything,' Tresa snapped.

    'No?
Who the hell else do you think did this?'

    'It
wasn't Mark.'

    Troy
shook his head. 'You're actually jealous, aren't you? Jesus. The fucking
pervert was stalking Glory, and all you can think about is yourself.'

    'You
have no idea what you're talking about. There was nothing between Mark and
Glory.'

    'Oh, come
on, Bradley obviously had a hard-on for her, the son of a bitch.'

    Tresa
shoved him, which was like pushing against the trunk of a tree. 'Shut up, Troy,
just shut your mouth. You think Glory was so sweet? Do you have any idea how
many boys she slept with?'

    'Don't
talk like that!'

    'What,
I'm supposed to pretend she was a princess because she's dead? Sorry, I won't
do that. She probably came on to some biker on the beach, or she tried to buy
drugs from the wrong person. Wake up, Troy. Glory used you like she used
everyone.'

    'I
loved her,' Troy murmured.

    'I
loved her too, but she got a free pass for everything. Mom's probably out there
right now wishing it was me that died.'

    'That's
crazy.'

    'Yeah?
For the last six years, I've been invisible. Everything's been about Glory.
Ever since the fire.'

    'She
almost died,' Troy protested.

    'I
know. She almost died. Poor Glory, she's screwed up because of the fire. Well,
fuck her.' Tresa bit her lip, knowing she'd gone too far.

    It had
always been that way between the two sisters. Sometimes you didn't know they
loved each other because of all the bitterness and jealousy. Troy watched tears
slip down Tresa's face, which she wiped away with her shirt. He felt like
crying too, but he hadn't been able to squeeze out any tears since he heard the
news. He was just numb. And guilty.

    He
saw Glory's mom storm into the foyer. When she got angry, you didn't want to be
in the firing line with Mrs Fischer, because she had a temper. He cringed to
see her, because he knew what she would say. Their eyes met, and he could feel
all of her grief and rage unloading silently on him across the room. Before he
could say anything or explain, she gestured to Tresa and opened her arms. Tresa
ran to her, and the two of them embraced and sobbed together. A minute earlier,
Tresa had been bitter about Glory; now, she moaned into her mother's shoulder
as they shared the loss.

    Delia
stroked Tresa's red hair. Troy sat there, ignored. It was probably better that
way, with her not looking at him. Eventually, though, Glory's mom detached
herself and told Tresa to get her a glass of water. Delia Fischer waited until
Tresa was gone, and then she descended on Troy.

    He
climbed to his feet, and the tears finally came. 'Mrs Fischer, listen, I—'

    'Don't
make excuses with me, Troy,' Delia said, practically spitting at him. 'You
promised me, didn't you? What did you say? You said you'd protect her. You said
I didn't need to worry.'

    'I
know, it's just that I didn't - I mean, Glory didn't come back -'

    Troy's
voice cracked. He hated himself for being weak. He hated himself for having
failed her.

    'You
knew that pervert, that rapist, was right here at the resort, and you left
Glory alone? Are you crazy?'

    'Tresa
says she doesn't think that Bradley would have done this,' Troy protested
meekly.

    'Tresa?
What the hell do I care what Tresa thinks about Mark Bradley? That man
brainwashed her into his bed. I know men like him. I know what they do to
teenage girls. This is about you, Troy. I trusted you.
I trusted you.
You told me you'd protect my baby, and she's dead. You let her die.'

    For a
husky kid, Troy felt himself getting smaller and smaller, until he thought he
could shrink into the tiniest hole in the earth and disappear. 'I'm so sorry,
Mrs Fischer,' he pleaded. 'Really.'

    Glory's
mom slapped him. Her fingers clapped against his cheek so hard that he stumbled
backward. His hand flew to his face, which stung like he'd been attacked by
wasps. He opened his mouth to say something, to say anything, and he had
nothing to say to her at all.

    'Your
father's right about you,' Mrs Fischer sneered. 'You are completely fucking
useless.'

    She
turned on her heel and stalked away, leaving him alone and in tears. Troy sank
on to the bench again and covered his face in his hands. He thought about
Glory, and he realized that everyone was right. Mrs Fischer was right. His dad
was right. He'd had a chance to prove himself, and he'd failed.

    He
really was useless.

    Cab found
Mark Bradley inside the interview room, along with a rotund older man who
sported a lion's mane of curly gray hair and a devilishly pointed goatee. He
was impeccably dressed in a gray suit with a buttoned vest and a pink tie. As
Cab entered, the older man jumped to his feet with a spry bounce, hopped round
the wooden table, and extended a hand. Cab shook it and felt his finger bones
groaning under the man's iron grip.

    'Archibald
Gale,' the attorney announced. 'I don't believe we've had the pleasure before,
Detective Bolton.'

    Cab
sat down and studied the man's eyes, which twinkled behind tiny owlish glasses.
'Meeting a lawyer really isn't my idea of pleasure, Mr Gale.'

    'Ah,
you're funny, Detective. I like that.'

    'Are
you new to Florida, Mr Gale? I thought I knew all the local criminal
attorneys.' Cab said the word 'criminal' with a small smile directed at Mark
Bradley.

    'I've
just begun wintering here. My other home is in Duluth, Minnesota.'

    'I'm
not familiar with that area,' Cab admitted.

    'It's
a beautiful place, but we've had an unusually high murder rate in recent years.
That's a mixed blessing if you're a lawyer.' Gale put an arm around the
shoulder of the well-built man seated beside him, whose face was smoky with
caged anger. 'Detective Bolton, this is Mark Bradley.'