The Bone House (6 page)

    Then
Tresa's mother Delia found her daughter's diary.

    When
Tresa wasn't dancing, she was writing. Mark was her English and art teacher.
He'd encouraged her to write short fiction, and he and Hilary had both read
several of her stories, in which she'd created a teenage detective who was a
lot like herself. What neither of them realized was that Tresa had been writing
other stories too. On her computer, she'd invented an imaginary diary in which
she related the details of her passionate sexual affair with her teacher. It
was erotic and explicit. She described their trysts, how he touched her, how
her body responded, the things he told her, the things she told him.

    It
was Tresa's sexual awakening on the pages of her diary, and it was convincing
enough to be real. When Delia Fischer found it on Tresa's computer, she leaped
to the obvious conclusion: Mark Bradley was having sex with her
seventeen-year-old daughter.

    Delia
confronted Tresa, but the girl's evasive denial persuaded her mother that Tresa
was covering up the truth of the affair. She didn't confront Mark about their
relationship; instead, she went directly to the principal, the school board,
the police, and the newspapers. Faced with allegations of criminal sexual
misconduct, Mark's own denials meant nothing. No one believed him. The intimate
detail in the diary spoke for itself. The only thing that saved him from
prosecution and jail was Tresa's stubborn insistence that the diary was a
fantasy, that there had never been any sexual relationship between herself and
Mark. Without her testimony, there was no case to bring to court.

    Even
so, Tresa's and Mark's denials didn't change many minds in Door County about
what had really happened between them. When Tresa talked about Mark, everyone
who listened to her could tell that she was in love with him. Her face glowed
when she talked about him. To her mother, and to the school authorities, that
meant she was protecting him.

    Mark
escaped without criminal charges, but the principal, teachers, and parents of
Fish Creek High School weren't about to leave him in front of a classroom. As a
second-year teacher, without tenure, he had essentially no rights under the
union contract. At the end of the year, he got what he knew was coming. The ax
fell. The nominal excuse was budget cuts, but everyone on the peninsula knew
the real reason. They all knew what kind of man Mark Bradley was, and no one
was going to let him take advantage of another teenage girl.

    In
the wake of Mark's dismissal, Hilary had wanted to quit, too, hut that would
have left them with no income at all. She also didn't want to give anyone at
the school the satisfaction of seeing them turn tail and run, as if somehow
that would justify the hostility towards them, like an admission of guilt. She
stayed. But since that time, it had been a long year of being shunned. She was
nearing the end of her third year in the district, and she knew her own tenure
decision would come down soon. Even if they granted her tenure, she and Mark
were struggling with the question of whether they wanted to leave. He had no
job prospects. She was tired of living under constant suspicion.

    What
kept them where they were was the fact that they loved their home on Washington
Island. They loved Door County. They'd moved from Chicago to the peninsula
because it was exactly where they wanted to live. She just didn't know if they
could stay in a place where they would never be welcome.

    Then
there were the doubts. The questions. They followed her everywhere. Even the
handful of friends who'd remained on her side sometimes lapsed into awkward
silence, as if to say: are you sure?

    Are
you sure it was just a fantasy? Did you read the diary? It was so detailed, so
precise, so explicit about their sexual encounters.
What if it really
happened?

    That
was a question Hilary refused to entertain. She never even allowed it to enter
her mind. She knew her husband. If he said there was no affair, then there was
no affair. But she also knew that Mark was afraid that in the end she'd begin
to believe the lies. They would both be consumed by the cloud of judgement.

    That
was why she'd told him how she felt on the first day and never again. If you
have to say it more than once, you don't mean it.

    'I
trust you.'

    'Tell
me what happened,' Hilary said.

    Mark
shook his head. 'Hil, I don't know. I wish I did.'

    'Start
at the beginning. Did you see Glory on the beach?'

    He
nodded. 'Yes.'

    'Did
you talk to her?'

    'I
did, but it was just for a couple of minutes.'

    'Why
didn't you tell me at breakfast?' she asked, keeping her tone even. She didn't
want him to hear an accusation in her voice.

    Mark
hesitated. 'I should have, but I wasn't ready to drag up everything for you
again. Or for me. I didn't think it mattered, because nothing happened. I saw.
her, and then I walked away. As far as I knew, that was the end of the story. I
have no idea who killed her.'

    'What
went on between the two of you?'

    Mark sat
down next to her on the sofa and stared at the carpet. 'Glory was drunk. I
didn't think it was safe for her to be out there like that, so I tried to
persuade her to come back to the hotel with me. She wouldn't go.'

    Hilary
saw the tension in how her husband was holding himself. His body was taut, like
a coiled spring. There was something else that he was reluctant to tell her,
and she made a guess about what it was. 'Glory came on to you, didn't she?'

    Mark
exhaled in a loud hiss. 'Ah, shit.'

    'Tell
me.'

    'Yes,
she kept asking me to have sex with her. I said no.'

    'I
get it,' Hilary said. 'Look, we both know Glory is the wild one compared to
Tresa. I'm sure she liked the idea of trying to seduce the man her sister was
in love with.'

    'Nothing
happened,' he insisted.

    'You
already said that.'

    'Most
of it was just talk, but the one thing she did - she took her bikini top off.'

    Hilary
closed her eyes. 'What did you do?'

    'Nothing.
That was it. I gave up trying to get her to go back to the hotel with me. I
left.' He added, 'Things were getting out of control, Hil. I just needed to get
away.'

    'Don't
blame yourself,' she told him.

    'I
do. I should have told someone she was out there, but she was threatening to
say we had sex. She said no one would believe me, and she was right. I couldn't
take the risk, not after last year. I couldn't put myself in the middle of it.
Or you.'

    
We're
in the middle of it anyway
, Hilary thought, but she didn't need to say it
out loud. Mark knew the score.

    'They're
going to come after me,' he said. 'They know I'm in the hotel. The police are
going to paint a bullseye on my chest.'

    'You're
probably right,' she acknowledged, 'but let's not panic, OK? Did anyone see you
leaving the room? Did anyone see you on the beach or see you when you came
back?'

    She
watched him mentally retrace his footsteps. 'I don't know. There may have been
a hotel employee on the patio when I left our room,
_i
but that's a
couple hundred yards away. I'm not sure whether he saw me or would recognize
me.'

    'Did
you see anyone with Glory on the beach?' she asked. 'Someone killed her.
Whoever it was may have been watching the two of you.'

    Mark
shook his head. 'I didn't see anyone.'

    She
heard hesitation in his voice. 'But?'

    'I
don't know. I felt like we were being watched. I felt like Glory saw someone,
but I didn't see anyone there.'

    'Did
she talk about anyone else?'

    'Just
Tresa,' he said. 'And her boyfriend. Troy Geier.'

    'What
did she say?'

    'She
talked about Troy being jealous. And she said - well, she said

    Tresa
saw the two of us during the competition, and she got rattled. That was why she
didn't do well.'

    Hilary
nodded. She'd actually felt guilty being in the audience during Tresa's
performance. Despite everything that had happened, she still liked the girl,
and she hated to see her do poorly.

    Mark
leaned back into the sofa and stared at the ceiling. The room was gloomy and
cold. 'So what do I do?'

    'Right
now, nothing,' Hilary said.

    'I
should tell the police what I know,' Mark insisted. He paused. 'Or do you think
I should shut up? I mean, if no one saw me ...'

    He
let the thought drift away, but she knew what he was thinking. If no one saw
him on the beach, should he really put his head into the lion's mouth by
admitting he was out there with Glory?

    'We
need to talk to a lawyer,' she said. 'Right now. Today. Until we do, I think
you shouldn't say anything. We don't lie, but we don't volunteer. OK?'

    Mark
nodded. 'OK.'

    'We'll
get through this,' she said.

    He
frowned and said what she was thinking. 'It's going to be just like last year,
Hil, you know that. Everyone's going to think I'm guilty.'

    'You're
not.'

    'I'm
not sure how much more of this we can take.'

    'I
know.'

    Mark
leaned over to embrace her, but before he could, their heads snapped around.
Someone rapped sharply on the door of the hotel room.

    Without
looking through the peephole, Hilary already knew. It was beginning.

    Cab
Bolton had to knock twice before the attractive blonde woman answered the hotel
door. When she did, he made a show of checking his notes. 'Mrs Bradley, is that
right? Hilary Bradley?'

    She
smiled politely at him without saying yes or no. 'May I help you?'

    'My
name is Cab Bolton. I'm a detective with the Criminal Investigations Division
of the Naples Police Bureau.' He flipped open the leather folder for his badge
and handed it to her to review, which she did.

    'What
is this about?' she asked.

    'You
may not have heard, but there was a serious crime committed on the beach
outside the hotel overnight. A teenage girl was murdered.'

    He
looked for surprise in her face and didn't see any. She knew exactly why he was
there. You could always see intelligence in the eyes, like a window on to the
machinery of the mind. Hilary Bradley was a smart woman.

    'That's
awful,' she replied, 'but I'm not sure how I can help you.'

    Cab
pointed one of his absurdly long fingers over her shoulder at the glass doors
leading to the beach. 'Your room looks out on the area where the crime took
place.'

    'I
see. Well, come in. I don't have much time, though, and I don't believe I can
help you.'

    Cab
ducked his head as he went through the doorway, which was what he had to do
with most doorways. Behind him, Hilary Bradley let the heavy door swing shut.
As he walked into the center of the room, he was conscious of the closed
bathroom door and the noise of the shower. He noted two open suitcases pushed
against the wall, half-filled with clothes. Laid messily on top of one suitcase
was a bright yellow man's tank top with a logo that read DC. He continued past
the unmade king-sized bed to the far end of the room, where he had a view
through the patio doors out on to the Gulf. The beach was sheltered by a web of
palm trees with drooping fronds. He saw the crime scene team at work near the water.
He recognized Lala's jet- black hair.

    'Beautiful
view,' he commented.

    Behind
him, Hilary said nothing. He slid open the door and stepped on to the square
stone patio, which was dusty with sand and featured two lounge chairs and a metal
table. From the patio, you could walk down two steps to a walkway that led to
the beach. He eyed the hotel rooms on either side of him, which all had similar
waterfront access. It would be easy to come and go undetected in the middle of
the night.