The Bone House (28 page)

    Hoffman
grunted and laid his hammer on the ledge of the front window. He grabbed a
bottle of whiskey from the top of his toolbox and eased himself down on the
front steps. Hilary sat down next to him. He unscrewed the top of the flask,
and without offering her a drink, he took a long swallow. She could tell from
the aroma of whiskey on his breath that he'd already been drinking before she
arrived.

    'I
don't talk about the fire,' he said. 'You're wasting your time.'

    'I
understand.'

    'I
heard what happened to you, and I'm sorry about that, but that doesn't mean I'm
going to help you.'

    Hilary
pulled aside the silk flap of her blouse far enough to show Hoffman the edge of
the purple bruise discoloring her chest. 'This is from the accident last night.
There are people around here who want to give me and my husband the death
penalty, Mr Hoffman, even though Mark is guilty of nothing.'

    'You
believe that, do you?'

    'I
do.'

    Hoffman
took another drink. 'Trust is bullshit.'

    'I
know why you feel that way,' Hilary said.

    'You
don't know a thing.'

    Hilary
let her eyes drift around the huge, forested plot of land. The neat square of lawn
and the carefully kept house felt like a tiny zone of order beating back chaos.
'Look, Mr Hoffman, I don't mean to bring up awful memories for you. All I want
you to do is consider the possibility that my husband didn't kill Glory
Fischer. You don't have to believe it the way I do. You don't even have to
believe that

    Harris
Bone was there. But if he was, if Glory
saw
him, we both know he'd have
every incentive to kill her to protect his secret.'

    Hoffman
squeezed his knees tightly with his hands. 'You're getting me angry, Mrs
Bradley.'

    'I'm
sorry, that's not my intention.'

    'I
know exactly what your intention is. You're trying to exploit the tragedy that
destroyed my family in order to protect your husband, who is most likely a
murderer. I won't let you do that.'

    Hilary
recoiled. 'I don't want to exploit your grief.'

    'Don't
treat me like an idiot. You don't care about Harris Bone. You don't want to
find him. You want him to be a mystery man, so your husband's lawyer can do a
dance with a jury and get him off. Don't expect me to be a party to it. I don't
need the hope of catching this man dangled in front of my face. You want the
truth, Mrs Bradley? The last person I want to see again is Harris Bone. No one
here wants to relive what happened six years ago.'

    'So
he goes free?' Hilary asked.

    'I
believe in God. Harris Bone will never be free. Not in this lifetime, not in
the afterlife. I won't let you compound his crimes by using him to help your
husband escape punishment for what he did.'

    'Mark
didn't kill Glory.'

    Hoffman
rubbed his jaw with his clenched left fist. He still wore a wedding ring on his
finger. When he spoke, his voice was choked with emotion.

    'Let
me explain something to you,' he told her quietly. 'Relationships run deep in
this part of the world. We have roots. I don't know if someone from the city
can understand that. The people who grew up here, they look after one another.
If it weren't for a good woman like Delia Fischer, the only grandchild I have left
would have died in that fire. To me, Delia is an angel. So when she loses her
baby girl, it hurts me as much as if Glory were my own daughter. Believe me,
I'm not going to let Delia suffer in vain. I'm going to make sure she gets
justice.'

    'Why
are you so quick to believe my husband did this?' Hilary asked in frustration.

    'The
better question is, why do you believe he's innocent?'

    She
shook her head and stood up. It had been a mistake to come here. 'Goodbye, Mr
Hoffman. I'm sorry to have troubled you.'

    'There
are no secrets around here,' he called as she retreated down the driveway.
'Felix Reich and I go back for decades. He already told me.'

    Hilary
stopped. 'Told you what?'

    'That
detective from Florida, he has a witness. He knows your husband was out on the
beach with Glory Fischer.'

    'Whether
he was or wasn't doesn't mean a thing,' she said.

    'They
were kissing, Mrs Bradley.'

    The
words hit her like bullets. 'That's a lie.'

    'Call
the sheriff if you like.' He added, 'I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this,
but you can't live in the dark forever.'

    Hilary
stalked away from the man without saying another word. She didn't want him to
see her face. As she retraced her steps, she kept putting her feet wrong, because
she had trouble seeing through the tears that clouded her eyes. Her breathing
was fast and loud. She got back inside the Taurus, and her fingers trembled as
she clung to the steering wheel. Her faith suddenly felt fragile. She thought
she would lose it entirely, like a rock skittering off a cliff.

    Instead,
she thought about her husband. She knew the kind of man he was. Whatever was
going on, whatever this person saw, there was another explanation. He didn't
touch her. He didn't kill her. Not Mark.

    Even
so, something new and unwelcome attached itself to her brain and began feeding
like a parasite as she drove for the ferry.

    Doubt.

    Tresa
sat by herself at the end of a dead-end road near Kangaroo Lake. She wasn't ready
to go home yet. Her heart was still full of Mark Bradley. She hadn't been so
close to him in almost a year, and she wanted to remember his face, the feel of
his body, and the sound of his voice while it was all vivid to her. The time
away at school in River Falls had done nothing to change how she felt. She
loved him.

    She
wanted to save him.

    Tresa
held her phone in her cold hand. As the sun sank lower, shadows lengthened on
the water. She hesitated about dialing, because she hadn't called in almost two
years. That was how life worked. People drifted apart. For all she knew, the
number had changed like everything else about her friend.

    She
dialed it anyway. She listened to the ringing and felt oddly anxious, as if she
would be calling a stranger. She thought about hanging up, but then she heard
the voice on the other end. It hadn't changed. She felt sad and ashamed. All
the old guilt flooded over her. She didn't even know if she could speak.

    'Hi,'
she said finally.

    There
was a long silence as she waited for Jen Bone to sift through her memory and
unearth a face and a name from her long-ago past.
'Tresa?'

    'Yeah,
it's me.'

    'Oh,
my God. How are you?' 'OK.'

    it's
been forever.'

    'I
know. I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you. You know, new life and all. I
wasn't sure you even wanted to remember me. I mean, because of everything.'

    'Yeah.'

    'I
ask Mr Hoffman about you all the time,' Tresa said. 'He keeps me posted on what
you're doing, sends me the school newspaper sometimes, that kind of thing.'

    'I
ask him about you, too.'

    'Oh,
yeah? OK.'

    'Listen,
I heard about Glory on the news,' Jen said. 'The girls at school were talking
about it. I'm really sorry.'

    'Thanks.'

    'Your
mom must be a wreck.'

    'Yeah,
she is.'

    'Are
you back at River Falls?'

    'No,
I'm taking the term off. Mom needs me here.'

    'That's
good.'

    Tresa
wondered how to say it. How do you say to a girl who was once your best friend:
If anyone knows where your father is, you do.
She struggled in silence,
until it was awkward between them.

    'The
papers said the police have a suspect,' Jen continued, when Tresa said nothing,
it sounded like you had some kind of relationship with him. Is that true?'

    'He
didn't do it.'

    Tresa
heard the hesitation on the line. 'Sure, OK. Whatever you say.' 'It's true.'

    'I
believe you.' She added, 'What do you want, Tresa? Why are you calling me?'

    Tresa
began, but she stumbled over her words. 'It's about Glory.'

    'What
about her?'

    'Actually,
I guess it's not really about her. Listen, I have to know.'

    'What?'

    Tresa
swallowed hard. 'Have you heard from your father?'

    'My
father? Are you kidding? Why?'

    'I
just wondered.'

    'No,
of course not. He wouldn't contact me. Oh, Jeez, you think he did this, don't
you? That's what this is about.'

    'Well,
I mean, him being missing and all. The police are still looking for him. I
thought if Glory saw him in Florida—'

    'That's
crazy, Tresa.'

    'Is
it? I don't know.'

    'He wouldn't
do this.'

    'How
do you know?'

    She
could hear her friend breathing and feel her indecision. Even after all these
years, they still had a connection. They'd been as close as sisters. 'Look,
Tresa, can you keep a secret?'

    'You
know I can. How can you say that to me?'

    'Swear
it.'

    'I
do, I do.'

    'Then
listen. My father didn't do this. So don't go spreading rumors like he did, OK?
Stop it. I mean, maybe you're trying to help your boyfriend, but I don't need this
all thrown in my face again. I've spent too much time getting past it. I'm a
different girl now.'

    'Yeah,
but you don't know, do you? I mean, it's possible.'

    'It's
not. Really. The thing is, I know where my father is. He called me last year.
He's living in Mexico. He's safe, and I'm safe. I don't want this thing
splashed all over the news again and have someone turn him in. You know? So for
me, Tresa, please, let it go. My father didn't kill Glory.'

    The
bar owned by Troy Geier's father sat at a deserted intersection on County Road
T, miles from any of the coastal towns. The low white building needed a fresh
coat of paint, as did the two-story farmhouse behind it. Cab parked in the dirt
of the highway shoulder and headed for the front of the bar. As he did, he
spotted a teenage boy hauling two bulging trash bags through the side door.
Troy Geier hiked to the rear of the building, breathing loudly, and Cab
followed. He heard the clang of metal as the boy threw the bags into a
dumpster, and as Troy barreled back around the corner, he nearly collided with
Cab and stopped in surprise.

    'Hello,
Troy.'

    Troy
adopted a who-cares attitude, but Cab knew it was fake. 'I heard you were in
town,' the boy said.

    'Got
a minute?'

    'Yeah,
I guess, but my dad will get pissed if I'm too long.'

    'It
won't be long.'

    Cab
wandered into the middle of the empty road with his hands in the pockets of his
dress pants. His tie blew over his shoulder. Troy trailed behind him, his feet
shuffling. Cracks ran through the asphalt in the county road. There were no
cars in any direction.

    Troy
smelled of frying grease and stale beer. He wore a Woody the Woodpecker T-shirt
and blue jeans, and his hands were dirty. His bulging cheeks looked like a
squirrel eating nuts.

    'What
do you do at the bar?' Cab asked.

    'Whatever
my dad tells me to do.'

    Cab
nodded. Troy's wavy hair was flat where he'd been wearing a hat, but Cab
figured it could have been the giant thumbprint of Troy's dad squashing his
boy. Whether it was his father, or Glory, Troy did as he was told.