The Lost Women of Lost Lake (20 page)

“I believe you called me—I'm Paul Feigenbaumer.”

“Oh, hi. Thanks so much for calling back.”

“Is this about Steve? A friend of his just called and told me what happened. I'm totally stunned.”

“I'm sorry for your loss. Were you two close?”

“Cousins. He lived with me for about six months when he and Carla were breaking up. You know Carla?”

“I just left her house.” She explained who she was and what she was looking for.

“I know all about that. I talked to Steve the night before last. He was pretty sure he'd chased one of the women to ground. Then he called the next morning and said he might have the other one in his sights, too.”

“I thought nobody knew who she was.”

“They knew, they just couldn't prove anything. She was this Jeff Briere's sister—Sabra Briere. Steve has had people watching the two women's families for years hoping one of them would make contact. The one named Judy finally did. Something about a brother or sister being diagnosed with cancer. That's how Steve tracked her to northern Minnesota.”

“What did he plan to do once he found them?” The question she wanted to ask was more difficult. Had Steve Feigenbaumer murdered Judy and did he intend the same for Sabra?

“Well, that was the problem. He didn't have enough evidence to prove that they'd murdered his father. He was hoping to convince them to turn themselves in. Like he'd lie, tell them he had the proof. I'm sure he was also nosing around up there, trying to find something to nail them with. Mainly he figured that if
he
threatened to turn them in, it would scare them and force their hands.”

“So he wasn't out for revenge?”

“Revenge?” repeated Paul. “As in killing them? Hell, no. He wanted them tried and jailed. For the rest of their worthless lives.”

“Did he mention any names? What Judy and Sabra were calling themselves now?”

“The one named Judy owned some sort of shop. The other one owned a resort. If he said their fake names, I don't recall what they were.”

It didn't matter. He'd just confirmed Jane's worst fear. Sabra Briere was Tessa Cornell. As hard as it was for Jane to believe, Tessa
was
a murderer. “This has been incredibly helpful.”

“Did he find them?”

She didn't want to give away too much. “I'm not sure.”

“Who shot and killed him?”

“I don't know that either.”

“Well, hell, lady. For a PI, you don't know jack shit.”

He didn't need to rub it in. “I'm working on it.”

*   *   *

The books that Tessa gave Jonah all seemed interesting enough.
Blink
, by Malcolm Gladwell;
The Shock Doctrine
, by Naomi Klein; and
The Glass Castle
, by Jeannette Walls. None of them were exactly light reading. He flopped down on his bed with a gigantic Hershey bar and began with
Blink
. He was interested in the guy's thesis, and yet no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, he couldn't stop thinking about Emily. Digging the cell phone out of his pocket, he tapped her key. The phone rang and rang until her voice mail picked up.

“Where are you?” he said, keeping his voice down. “I'm sorry I can't come over tonight. My aunts are both still super pissed. I've got to play nice or they won't let me stay. Call me.”

When Emily hadn't called back by ten, Jonah's worry moved into overdrive. He tried her one more time. Again, she didn't answer.

Hearing a knock on his door, he said, “Come in.”

Jill stuck her head inside. “I'm back and I'm beat. Everything okay with you?”

He held up the book. “Tessa gave me an assignment.”

Jill seemed amused. “If you want something to eat before bed, do it now. Tessa's planning to sleep on the living room couch tonight.”

“Because of the fight?”

“Oh, who knows. We'll work it out. I'm going to turn in, too, so eat now if you're starving.”

“I'm fine.”

“You know, honey, we're not grounding you just to be mean.”

“I know.”

“See you in the morning then.” She backed out and shut the door behind her.

Jonah waited another few minutes, until he was positive no one was moving around upstairs, and then let himself into the garage, where he eased Jill's road bike away from the wall rack. Because he was a good foot taller than she was, he took a few seconds to raise the seat. Once outside in the dark with the garage door closed, he hopped on and took off up the gravel path that led past the lodge to the main road. The night air was warm and thick with humidity. He started to sweat almost immediately.

He couldn't understand why Emily hadn't returned his call. A voice inside his head kept repeating the words
something's wrong
. Anxiety cramped his stomach as he rode through the quiet, deserted streets. He slowed as he turned the corner onto Comstock. Halfway down the block, he climbed off the bike and walked it the rest of the way.

As he neared her house, he heard voices—a male voice and then a woman's voice, both hushed. Coming to a stop behind the tall boxwood hedge that divided the Jensen property from the house next door, he leaned the bike against the tight foliage and then dug both hands through the leaves to part them just enough so that he could see what was going on.

Emily and Kenny had just come out of the porch door. Kenny's Harley was parked in the driveway.

“Guess I better shove off,” said Kenny, draping his arm around Emily's shoulder as they moved together down the front steps. He had on a cool muscle T, and yet he managed to ruin the sexy image with his bulging gut.

“I'll pick you up tomorrow and take you over to the resort.”

“I don't want to go back there.”

“Now, now. There's nothing to worry about. Everything's cool.” He pulled her into his arms, buried his hands in her hair and kissed her.

Jonah stiffened. Roaring out from behind the hedge, he shouted, “What the hell? Emily? Get away from him.”

A smile tugged at Kenny's lips. “Hey, puke.” He pulled Emily closer, lowered his head and nibbled her ear. “You're history. I'm her man now. Tell him, babe.”

With eyes that were flat and cold, Emily nodded.

“I don't believe you,” said Jonah, his heart hammering. “This is bullshit.”

“Believe it,” said Kenny.

“Emily?”

“You better go,” she said.

“This is
not
happening,” screamed Jonah, catching a look on her face that sent a chill through him. “That guy is a pig. He's so fat the army doesn't even want him.”

“That's it,” called Kenny, letting go of Emily.

“Truth hurts, huh?” said Jonah, shoving the motorcycle over as Kenny lunged for him. Luckily, Kenny's pant leg got tangled on part of the bike. He howled with fury as both he and the bike hit the pavement.

Jonah didn't wait to finish the conversation. He grabbed Jill's road bike and skidded out onto the street. Behind him, he could hear Kenny scream, “You're a dead man, Jonah. Hear me?
Dead
.”

24

Thursday morning dawned gray and rainy. Wendell and Ruth sat in the front seat of Wendell's minivan, looking through the windshield wipers at the home he'd once owned. It was a modified A-frame, with a front deck facing the water. The house was everything he'd ever wanted and more. With the prominently displayed
FOR SALE
signs, one on the dock and one at the end of the gravel road leading to the property, he assumed it was still on the market.

“We loved living there,” he said, working some fake sadness through his vocal cords, something he'd developed to hide his rage.

“It's a beautiful home. Did you own a boat?”

“A rowboat. Nothing fancy. Mary Jo and I would row out in the evenings after work and eat a picnic dinner on the water. Those were some of our best times.” He turned to Ruth, pressed his hand to hers. “I didn't think I'd ever find another woman to love. How did I get so lucky?”

Wendell had stayed at Ruth's house last night. It was the first time they'd been together. He'd been his usual clumsy, tentative self, and yet for some reason, Ruth didn't seem to mind. He'd never thought of himself as a great lover. He did, however, know how to be gentle and tried as hard as he could to pick up the cues Ruth was sending. Waking up with his arms around her had made him happier than he'd been in years. They'd talked quietly as the light crept in through the half-open blinds, discussed how overserious they'd been about their lovemaking, and agreed to take it slow and have fun. They ended up laughing at how ridiculous they both were, completely out of practice when it came to dating. Ruth made a big breakfast—eggs and pancakes and sausage. Wendell squeezed the orange juice and put on the coffee, nothing above his level of expertise.

“I love being with you,” he said, stroking her hand, listening to the soft patter of rain against the car windows.

“I feel safe with you,” said Ruth. “That's important to me. We always need to be honest with each other, even if it hurts.”

“Absolutely,” he said, nodding, while at the same time avoiding her eyes. “Honesty is the only way to go.”

Back at the Merland house, Wendell led Ruth into the bedroom that currently served as his photography studio.

“So this is where you work,” she said, taking it in with an impressed look on her face. The bed and all the furniture had been shoved into one corner of the room, leaving the rest of the space open and empty, except for a raised professional backdrop with a wooden stool in front of it.

Wendell assumed she was humoring him. The room wasn't much, even though it allowed him to tell people that he still had a studio. The truth was, his photography business had almost dried up since the fire. He didn't have the money to replace everything he'd lost. He had one more month before the school year started. How could he not be worried that the school board would take his contract for student photos away from him this year? If that happened, it would sink his business for good.

Ruth slipped her hands inside his. “It'll work out. You'll see.”

He tried to smile. “I have something for you.”

“For me?”

“For your birthday.”

“How—”

“I asked Emily about it last week. I had no idea it was coming up so fast.” He handed her a small, wrapped box. “I hope you like it.”

She unwrapped the paper with great care and opened the lid. “Perfume?”

“It's a favorite of mine.
Evening in Paris
. I had to send away for it. You can't find it, even in Duluth.”

She removed the cap and waved the tiny bottle under her nose. “It's wonderful. I love it.”

“Do you really?”

“I'd love anything you gave me.”

“Put some on.”

As she dabbed a few drops behind her ears, Wendell's cell phone rang. “Give me a sec,” he said, walking out of the room into the hallway.

“Wendell, hi, it's Frank Lind again.”

“Yeah, hi. Anything more on the insurance payout?”

“I'm afraid I've got some bad news. Our investigator isn't convinced it was a faulty space heater.”

Wendell flinched. “What else could it be?”

“We have to rule out arson.”

“Arson? That's ridiculous. The sheriff's department investigated and said it was the space heater in our upstairs bedroom. It was an old building, with no circuit interruptors, no sprinkler system. The volunteer fire department said the exact same thing.
Everybody
agreed.”

“Our lead investigator interviewed the man who called in the fire. John McBride. You know him?”

“No.”

“He said he saw two sources. One upstairs and another on the porch at the back of the house. You got two sources, you got arson.”

“That is absolute garbage,” said Wendell, “and you know it.”

“Look, we're not saying you had anything to do with it. And we're not trying to stiff you on the money. I wrote the policy and I wouldn't have done it the way I did if I didn't think that you were an honest guy. But you also have to understand the position of my company. One in four fires today is intentionally set.”

“I wasn't there. I'd been gone for hours.”

“I know that. Honestly, I think this is all going to turn out in your favor. It's just going to take a little more time because we had to call in a professional consultant.”

“I lost everything in that fire. I can't work if I can't buy new equipment.”

“Be patient just a little while longer.”

Through the windows on either side of the front door, Wendell spied a Balsam County sheriff's car pull up to the curb. He said a disgusted good-bye to his insurance man as he watched Kelli Christopher and one of her deputies dash through the rain up to the house.

Just moments after the bell rang, he answered the door. “Can I help you?”

“We need to talk,” said Kelli.

“What about?”

“Can we come in?”

“Oh. Sure,” he said, immediately on the defensive. What the hell did they want?

Wendell wasn't alone in his opinion that the undersheriff of Balsam County should not be a woman. He didn't hate women, or anything like that, it just wasn't right. For one thing, he was put off by her self-assurance. And he didn't like her hard-edged, down-to-business approach. The old undersheriff had been a friendly, easygoing, talkative guy. He wanted to tell her that, behind her back, people gossiped. Some thought she might be a lesbian, like Jill and Tessa. Wendell figured that was a stretch. Three lesbians in one small town? There couldn't be
that
many around.

Kelli motioned him into the living room. “Let's sit a minute.”