The Bone House (40 page)

    Mark
reached out and embraced her. She felt as if they were holding on with nothing
but their fingertips, slipping out of each other's grasp. To make it worse, she
was about to leave him alone for the night.

    'Call
Gale,' she told him, 'but don't mention the shoes. A lawyer can't advise you to
destroy evidence. I still think you should get rid of them.'

    'That's
like admitting I killed him.'

    'Why
are you fighting me on this?'

    'Because
this time, I think you're wrong, and if I do it, there's no going back.'

    'How
long were you gone from the ferry line when you drove to Hoffman's house?' she
asked.

    Mark
shrugged. 'Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.'

    'That's
not much time.' 'They'll say it's plenty of time to get to his house, argue,
struggle, and kill him.'

    'For
God's sake, Mark, whose side are you on?'

    'Ours,'
he said, 'but I'm not going to pretend. I'm in trouble. Lying and hiding won't
get me out of it.'

    Hilary
saw the crew at the ferry dock waving to her. The other cars had already pulled
ahead of her and boarded. She checked her watch; it was two minutes before four
o'clock. The boat was leaving.

    'I
have to go,' she told him.

    'What?
Why? Where are you going?'

    'Amy
Leigh is missing. I got a call from her roommate at Green Bay. She hasn't seen
Amy since last night, and Amy's not answering her phone. I'm going to Green
Bay. We're going to talk to the police.'

    Mark
blew out his breath in disappointment. 'Of all nights, Hil. I really need you
with me.'

    'If
something happens to Amy, and I didn't do anything to stop it, I'd never
forgive myself. She called
me.
She reached out to me. I've got to do
this.'

    'Let me
come with you.'

    'Not
in those shoes. Not in those clothes. Go home and call Archie Gale.'

    'Hil,
let it go. I'm coming.'

    She
shook her head. 'Look at yourself, Mark. You're not in any shape to do this
now. Plus, if you're there, the police will make this about you, not Amy.'

    He
opened the car door. Wind rushed in. 'OK. Go.'

    'This
might be our one chance to find out what really happened to Glory,' she told
him. 'To prove it wasn't you. This coach that Amy talked about, Gary Jensen, I
called a friend of mine at the school where he used to work. He was suspected
of having sexual relationships with teenage girls.'

    Mark
climbed out of the car and leaned back in through the door with a sad smile.
'So was I.'

    'Damn
it, Mark, don't talk like that.'

    'I'm
sorry, I can't help it.' He pulled her face closer and kissed her. His lips
were cool. 'I love you. Don't forget that.'

    'I
love you, too.'

    He
shut the door and walked away. After an instant of doubt, she put the Taurus in
gear and drove on to the ferry. With the car parked, she got out and climbed
the steps to the passenger deck. She stayed outside, hanging on to the railing
as the boat eased away from the island. Beyond the shelter of the harbor, the
wind on the open water intensified, and the ferry swayed under her feet. Back
on the shore, in the parking lot, she could still see Mark's truck. She waved,
and she saw the lights of the Explorer flash on and off. He was inside,
watching her go.

    Inside
the bridge cabin, on the top deck of the ferry, a nineteen-year- old man named
Keith Whelan watched Hilary at the railing. He was as thin as a telephone pole,
with shaggy black hair. He'd worked on the ferry runs for two years. The pilot
at the wheel glanced away from the water and followed Keith's eyes to the woman
on the deck.

    'There's
nothing sexier than a woman in the wind,' the pilot said. 'Especially that
one.'

    Below
them, Hilary turned and disappeared inside the passenger compartment. The deck
was empty. They could barely see the land of the NorDoor five miles away.

    'I
see that woman going back and forth every day,' the pilot said, 'and I never
get tired of the view.'

    'Whatever.'
Keith rubbed his nose and tugged at the crotch of his jeans. 'Gotta piss.'

    'Sure,
go.'

    Keith
left the shelter of the bridge and took the steps down one deck. The boat
rolled, but he didn't notice it anymore, even in the worst weather. He ducked
through the door to the passenger space, where half a dozen drivers read magazines
and gabbed into their phones while they still had signal. Hilary Bradley stood
off by herself, staring out the window. Their eyes didn't meet. With her
glasses, she looked stuck-up and brainy. Keith didn't like women who pretended
they were smarter than he was.

    He
slipped inside the phone-booth-sized toilet and locked the door. He grabbed his
cell phone and punched in a number.

    'It's
Keith,' he said. 'You wanted a heads up, right? She's on the four o'clock
heading to the mainland. No way she's going to turn around and go back on the
five. I'm telling you, she's sleeping somewhere else tonight. He'll be alone in
the house. If you want him, this is your chance.'

    'I'm
sorry, Sheriff,' Cab told Felix Reich. 'It's hard to lose a friend this way.'

    Reich
sat in the driver's seat of his Chevy Tahoe in the turnaround at the end of
Port des Morts Drive. His hands were on the wheel, and he stared into space
down the tree-lined road. His chest rose and fell with fierce precision. After
a long silence, Reich's head swiveled on his neck, and Cab saw a fury so deep
and bitter that blood vessels pulsed in the man's eye.

    'Let
me tell you something, Detective Bolton,' the sheriff growled. 'I hate to say
anything bad about a brother behind the shield, but you know what? I don't like
you. You race your Corvette into my county with your expensive suits and your
spiky hair and your earring, and the next thing I know, a friend of mine is
dead. I blame you.'

    'I
understand you're hurting, Sheriff, and I respect that, but let's lose the
guilt trip, OK? I don't need it.'

    Reich
clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 'Here's the way
we're going to do this, Detective. You're going to tell me everything you know
like a witness at a crime scene, which is what you are. When we're done, you're
going to drive down to your luxury apartment in Fish Creek and pack your bags.
Tomorrow I want you to get the hell out of Door County.'

    'Threats
just make me more stubborn,' Cab replied.

    'I
gave you free rein in my jurisdiction because you were investigating a murder.
Now so am I, and you're in my way. Go home.'

    'If
our cases are connected, we should work together.'

    'If
our cases are connected, it's because you didn't listen to me about

    Mark
Bradley. He's mine now. You're going to have to wait your turn, and that'll be
a long time coming.'

    'You're
convinced Bradley did this?' Cab asked.

    'I've
assembled more evidence in an hour on this case than you've gathered since you
arrived. When you live in a place your whole life, people trust you. They
become your eyes and ears. They tell you things. You didn't know that Pete had
a fight with Bradley near Sister Bay today, did you'

    Cab
raised an eyebrow. 'No.'

    'I
got four calls about it. Pete swore in front of a dozen witnesses that he was
going to make sure Bradley paid for his crimes, and Bradley threatened to kill
Pete. Bradley was also spotted in the ferry line at Northport at two
forty-five. He borrowed a phone and made a call, and then he took off at high
speed and came back fifteen minutes later. Guess who he called? His own phone.
The one you found in Pete's pocket. This is the end of the line for that man.'

    Cab
wasn't convinced, but he didn't say so. 'I wish you luck, Sheriff.'

    'Remember
what I said. I want you heading home to Florida in the morning.'

    'I'll
keep that in mind, but I have one question first. What did Peter Hoffman know
about Bradley?'

    'I
don't follow you.'

    'Hoffman
said he'd make sure that Bradley got what was coming to him. He told me he
could help me
prove
that Bradley killed Glory. I'd like to know how he
planned to do that.'

    'If I
find out anything about that, you'll be my first call.'

    'I
was wondering if you knew what it might be.'

    'I
have no idea.'

    'You
can't keep secrets in a small town. Somebody knew something.'

    'Pete
didn't talk to a lot of people.'

    'What
about Delia Fischer?' Cab said. 'Hoffman was close to the Fischer family. Maybe
he had information about Glory. Or Tresa. Something that would tie Bradley to
one or both of them.'

    'Leave
Delia out of this,' Reich snapped. 'I don't want you bothering her. Is that
clear? Anything that involves Peter Hoffman is part of my investigation now,
not yours. Stay out of my way.'

    'Whatever
you say,' Cab replied.

    He
pushed open the door of the Tahoe, but Reich reached across the truck and
stopped him with a powerful hand on his shoulder.

    'Before
you leave, find one of the evidence technicians and give them a fingerprint
sample. Shoes, too. We'll need to clear your prints on anything we find inside
and outside.'

    'Of
course.'

    'Talk
to one of the deputies and go over your movements in detail.'

    'Sure,'
Cab said.

    'What
are we going to find?' Reich asked.

    'Meaning
what?'

    'Meaning,
what did you do before you called me? You knew you wouldn't get another shot at
Pete's house. I assume you tried to figure out what he was going to tell you.'

    Cab
smiled. Reich wasn't a fool. 'I opened a few drawers. I looked in the file
cabinet. That's all.'

    'Did
you find anything? If you did, you better tell me now.'

    Cab
had been hoping to hide behind a vague denial, but Reich wasn't giving him the
chance. The smart thing to do was to hand over what he'd found in Hoffman's
pocket. The enlarged section of Door County map. The key. If he didn't, he was
committing a crime. If he did, it was also the last time he'd see the evidence,
and he wasn't ready to take himself out of the chase yet.

    'I
didn't find a thing,' Cab told Reich. 'Nothing at all.'

    The
tiger-striped cat sauntered across Delia's path as she sat on the rocking chair
on the front porch. It perched on its haunches next to her and watched her with
its serious dark eyes. Delia stretched out her foot and stroked the cat's
short-haired back. The animal slid down on to its side and offered up its plump
stomach for attention. It squirmed and purred as Delia's stockinged foot rubbed
its fur, and Delia only stopped when she realized that tears were streaming
down her cheeks. Part of Delia loved the cat, because she couldn't see it
without thinking of Glory. Part of her hated the cat for the same reason.

    Glory
had named the cat Smokey, which she said was because of the swirls of black in
the cat's fur. Delia knew better; the kitten had smelled of smoke for days
after the fire. Smokey was bereft now and was constantly near Delia seeking
comfort. The cat had slept in Glory's arms every night, and it didn't
understand why the girl was gone. It kept looking out of windows and doors with
confused longing, as if it expected her to come back.

    Delia
wiped away her tears and continued with her work. She had a wooden tray draped
across her lap, where she crafted her costume jewelry. She'd cut narrow strips
from cans of Dr Pepper and Orange Crush, and she had pliers on the tray to bend
and twist the strips together into two-tone spiral earrings. She wore a
magnifier on a headband over one eye for the close work. She'd done it so many
times that the process was mindless now, making metal curls and buffing the
edges with steel wool. On eBay, she could sell a pair for ten dollars. The
local gift shops charged more, but she had to give the storeowners a cut of the
money. In the past year, she'd netted almost two thousand dollars, which was a
welcome boost to a budget that never seemed to be in balance. There was always
one bill too many.