The Good House Part 20

"Well..." Sean hesitated. "Yeah. Of course. Everyone called him Bo."

"What else do you know about him?"

Sean's hand wandered to his forehead, looking for hair to flick from his face, a habit. "Didn't he...run away or something?"

"He vanished that same summer you met Corey," Rob said. His notebook was open again, his pen poised to take notes. Sean looked at Angela, as if for a.s.sistance, but Angela was lost. She'd never heard of a kid named Beaumont Cryer. Apparently, Sheriff Graybold had his own agenda today. "Didn't Bo spend a lot of time at The Spot? You and Corey hung out there, too. When you ran into Bo there...did he ever say anything about leaving town? Anything that could help us out?"

Sean opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated. He was weighing what to say, and not hiding it well. "I'm not sure I remember running into Bo Cryer at The Spot," he said finally. "I don't have any memory of that." To Angela, he sounded like a senator testifying at a Congressional hearing.

"You sure, Sean?" Sheriff Graybold said gently. "No little disagreement?"

"That was at Pizza Jack's," Sean blurted, then slowed down. "I mean, it wasn't a real disagreement or anything. No big deal. Bo said some things Corey didn't like, trying to start something. That's how Bo was. But nothing came of it."

That was all news to Angela, but as much as she'd tried to monitor Corey's whereabouts, the life teenagers shared with other teenagers was known only to them. Corey had mentioned some local boys making snide comments and giving him hostile looks, another of the reasons he hated spending summers in Sacajawea. Remembering that, Angela felt pangs of remorse. She'd been so bent on trying to recreate the experiences of her adolescence for Corey, she'd uprooted him every year and isolated him in a place where he felt like an outsider. Since his death, that seemed unreasonable in a way that horrified her. Tears p.r.i.c.ked at Angela's eyes. She should never have brought him here. What would she give to have that one summer back?

"Yousure, Sean?" Sheriff Graybold said again. "You're sure nothing came of it?"

Sean was looking at Rob Graybold as if he knew it was useless to lie, but it was too late to start telling the truth. "Yeah, nothing came of it. Then we heard he'd vanished."

"And how long after that did Corey shoot himself? Do you remember?"

Sean swallowed hard, his Adam's apple fighting his throat. "A couple days, maybe. I dunno."

Angela could no longer keep quiet. "Rob...I don't know what you're getting at here, but you're missing the point. Sean, you need to tell us about what you told me. The spells."

Sean looked at her with sad, exasperated eyes. "I don't know anything about the magic, Mrs. Toussaint," he said. "Swear to G.o.d. Corey was into it, that's all."

"But you said the land is tainted," Sheriff Graybold said. "Isn't that right? Didn't you say that to your dad all the time? That's what I hear from folks. You said not to go near it."

Sean blinked. He was close to tears, and Angela suddenly pitied him. She hadn't expected Rob to push this hard. "I said it was bad karma, because Corey died there," Sean said.

"Corey died in thehouse, Sean. I understand that. But there's fifty-odd acres of land back there. Why would you warn your dad and anybody else who'd listen to stay away from the land?"

Sean looked at Angela again, this time with fierce eyes. "Maybeshe gets it. When something bad happens, you want to stay away from it. Don't you? You don't want to talk about it. You want to forget it ever happened. You understand, don't you, Mrs. Toussaint?"

"Yes, Sean, I do," she said, seizing the opportunity to try to get through to him. "But sometimes we can't stay away. We have to go back. Because if we don't, other people get hurt. I can't think of any good that's ever come out of a secret, even if you made a promise to a friend to keep one. Even if you promised a friend who died."

Tell us,Angela thought, wishing she could control Sean with her mind.Please. But Sean's eyes had narrowed as he drew more deeply into himself, escaping to his own contemplations.

The sun was low in the sky. It must be nearly five o'clock, Angela realized. She could hardly remember how she'd spent her day, except making phone calls and this conversation with Sean. Days were too precious to waste, and she wasn't looking forward to the drive back to Longview and the confinement of her hotel room. This close to Gramma Marie's house, she almost felt tempted to stay here at home. Almost.

The squawk from Sheriff Graybold's radio was so loud, Angela jumped beside him. Rob pressed the radio to his mouth. "Graybold," he said.

"Rob? There's a report of a possible homicide over by the pier, near the historical museum. Gunnar Michaelsen's waiting there with his grandson. Tommy made the call." A woman's voice.

"What the h.e.l.l would Tommy know about a homicide?"

"That's the call, Rob. He sounded frantic. You best go check it out."

"Roger that," Rob said, and Angela noticed his body sag. His eyes had gone cold in a way they might have when he was in Skamokawa that day, right before he squeezed the trigger. "That sounds like a s.h.i.tstorm. Tommy and some friends playing a prank, I'll bet. But I gotta go."

Sean looked relieved to have lost Rob's attention, but Rob had a stern tone for him. "Don't disappear yourself until we've talked again. You got that?"

"Yes, sir," Sean said, already halfway back to the front door of his trailer.

"Rob, we need to talk," Angela said.

"Then you're gonna have to ride with me, Angie."

It began to drizzle as Rob set off for the pier in his Sacajawea sheriff's vehicle, a silver Ford Bronco with a bright blue stripe painted along its body. He drove without his siren and in no apparent hurry, his windshield wipers whining as they made their slow, dragging pa.s.sage back and forth across the gla.s.s. The sight of Toussaint Lane, and Gramma Marie's house perched above it, disappeared in the rearview mirror.

"What was that all about?" Angela said.

"That Cryer kid disappeared around the time Corey died, and it seemed clear as a bell to me just now that Sean knows something about that. And, I guess..." Rob didn't have to finish.

"Corey never said anything to me," Angela said. Rob shrugged, noncommittal, and she felt a surge of anger as she realized her son might be under suspicion for a crime. "You never thought there was any credibility to what I told you, did you?"

"Sorry, Angie, but I follow leads. Spells and curses don't hold water with me-facts do. There are a lot of facts tied together with Sean Leahy. If you follow it your way and I follow it my way, maybe between the two of us, we'll figure this out. Like you, I want to know what happened that summer. That was a bad summer in Sacajawea County. We lost two of our boys." His eyes were suddenly intent on the road before him. "Let's hope we haven't lost someone else."

Angela's left arm tingled so badly, she clutched it close to her chest.Dammit . What now? "I don't think this call is a hoax, Rob," she said softly, thinking aloud.

"Know what? You could be right. I'm breaking regs bringing a civilian with me without calling it in, Angie-so when I pull in, stay close to my car."

Laney Keane waved them down in front of the huge maritime bell and mounted antique schooner on display outside of the historical society, which ab.u.t.ted the riverfront. She ran to Rob's window, breathless. Angela hadn't seen Laney since the Fourth of July party.

"Tommy'shysterical . Everyone's around back, on the pier."

Rob thanked her and b.u.mped his Bronco up onto the curb to drive across the muddy gra.s.s leading to the pier-cops' privilege, and definitely faster than walking. A second sheriff's vehicle was already parked several yards ahead of them. Only now did Rob turn on his flasher, which flamed in red against the historical society's rear wall and the water's edge. When Angela opened her car door, a strong wind from the river whipped across her face, tousling her hair. She smelled rotting sea life. Someone was feeding a flock of seagulls nearby, and the birds' cries bothered her ear. Seagulls always sounded like they were in distress.

Eight people were huddled on the pier in light jackets, waiting. Angela forgot Rob's instructions to stay near his car, following him stride for stride. A young child stood at the center of the crowd, wrapped in a police-issue orange blanket while Gunnar Michaelsen stood over him with both hands planted on the boy's shoulders. The child's face and hair were streaked with sandy mud, a sight that stopped Angela in her tracks. There was no hysteria in the crowd, not the way Laney had described it, but the quiet was more unsettling.

The muddy boy's neck was craned upward, his head pivoting back and forth as the adults spoke over him. A lanky deputy Angela didn't recognize pointed out an inlet with a muddy, rocky shoal to Rob, about forty yards from them. Angela saw someone's blue jacket, a tackle box, and fishing poles on the sandy bank across the way, which was littered with tiny clam-sh.e.l.ls that seagulls had carried into the air and broken on the rocks below. Next, the deputy pointed out the tied fibergla.s.s rowboat bobbing in the water alongside the pier. There was another fishing pole in the boat, a rod and reel that looked expensive.

Even standing a few feet from Rob, Angela heard only s.n.a.t.c.hes of what was said. "...All three of them over there at about four-thirty...," said the deputy, reciting for Rob with precision. "...says he held his face under the water and strangled him...shook him violently...then when he stopped moving, he carried the body to the boat, rowed it back...saw him put the body in his car.... Tommy had to take the path.... He ran screaming to Laney, and she called 911 for him."

The crowd listened like a funeral party. Rob nodded and took notes, gazing out at the boat and then toward the shoal, which was accessible either by the water or a rocky, circuitous path winding along the riverbank. He gazed at the path, probably replaying what the deputy had said in his mind. "Colin," Rob said to the deputy, "get me the mayor's law office on the phone."

"He's not there!"the boy said, screaming, the first words Angela had heard him speak.

"We already tried his office. He did leave early today," the deputy said.

"He's already home by now. That's where he said he was goin'!"the boy screeched, and Gunnar rubbed his shoulders to try to calm him. Gunnar's cheekbones above his beard looked tight enough to crack if he spoke. He looked haunted. It was hard to believe that only yesterday he'd been romping on the rooftop of her house, enjoying his friends.

"Get them at home, then," Rob said. "Let's talk to Liza."

As the rowboat in the water floated closer to the dock, Angela made out the bright red lettering painted lovingly at its pointed helm:HIZZONER , it said. That was Art's boat. Had something happened to Art?

Her heart leaping, Angela made her way closer to the sheriff as he took the cell phone his deputy had already dialed for him. "Liza? Hey, this is Rob. Is Art there?" Angela, like everyone else, listened during the ensuing pause. For an instant, there was silence except for the moaning of seagulls and indistinguishable traces of Liza's chipper voice on the phone.

"No, no need to pull him away from that," Rob said. "How about Glenn? Is he there, too? He all right?" The sheriff nodded, indicating to the onlookers that she had said yes. Thank G.o.d, Angela thought. Thank Jesus, Allah, and everyone else. But she noticed that Tommy looked more confused than relieved, and Gunnar's face was no less haunted.

"No, nothing's wrong," Rob said. "I'm just gonna swing by there in a few minutes. There's a little something I want to ask Art about. I'll tell him when I get there." He clicked off. Rob summoned his deputy closer to give him private instructions, then he kneeled down until he was at eye-level with Tommy. "I think maybe there was a misunderstanding, Tommy. Do you feel like taking a ride with me in a real police car?"

Despite his tears, Tommy's face brightened and he nodded. Rob led Tommy and Gunnar back toward his haphazardly parked Bronco and opened the back door for them. Without a word, Angela slid into the pa.s.senger seat. Rob would probably like to leave her behind-her car was parked outside his office only two blocks away, easy enough to walk to-but she wanted to go with him to make sure Art and Liza were all right. Rob started his engine without glancing at her.

Spruce Street, where Art and Liza lived, was on the other side of the Four, half a mile from downtown, toward the white-tailed deer preserve between Sacajawea and Skamokawa. It was a short ride, made interminable by the silence in the car. Angela glanced at Gunnar's face in the rearview mirror; he didn't look as brittle as he had before, but he was not at ease. Neither was Tommy, who was sitting with his eyes closed, rocking back and forth, singing a quiet song to himself.

"You like fishing, Tommy?" Angela said, trying to distract the boy.

Tommy didn't open his eyes. "Iused to," he said mournfully.

Gunnar glared at Angela in the rearview mirror, so she didn't say anything else to the child.

Spruce Street was shared by six houses, three on each side with five-acre land tracts, so it was not usually a busy place. But Angela saw the cars waiting as soon as Rob turned the corner from the Four, three of them parked along the road, in addition to another sheriff's unit. Marlene Odell from the grocery store stood leaning against her car, fumbling with a cigarette while she waited. Logan Prescott and Tom Brock were there, too, arms crossed. A neighbor family stood in the front yard across the street, keeping a polite distance but determined to see what they could. The sight of the waiting crowd made Angela feel queasy with dread.

Angela saw Rob touch his holster before he opened his car door, feeling his gun. What the h.e.l.l was going on? "I thought Liza said everything was fine, Rob," she whispered.

"That is what she said. Just keep clear, Angie. I mean it this time."

When Rob told Gunnar and Tommy to wait in the car, the boy squirmed. "Can you ask if Glenn can come outside?" Tommy said urgently.

"I'll do that," Rob said, and gave Tommy a small smile before walking away.

A lean, broad-shouldered black dog guarded the house from the backyard, heaving himself against the fence as he barked angrily. Art's two-story house was white with forest-green trim, and a cheerful wooden country mailbox waited on a post at the roadside.BRUNELL , it said above the freshly carved jack-o'-lantern grinning out jaggedly on the ground beneath it. For the first time, Angela remembered that Halloween was in two weeks. She'd forgotten all about it. In Sacajawea, holidays were celebrated early, with painstaking decorations, as if it were the law.

Angela followed Rob as far as she thought she could without a warning. Then, she stopped and stood posted like the others, a dozen steps from the front porch. The porch was draped with orange and black streamers, but what stole Angela's gaze was the mock graveyard beside the porch steps, a small patch of soil planted with three gray headstones in diminishing size; mama bear, papa bear, and baby bear. The joke was lost on her. It didn't seem the least bit funny.

The doorbell chimed inside the house. Another long, silent wait. When Liza flung the door open, Angela's sense of normalcy swiftly returned. "What theh.e.l.l 's into Miko? He's making a racket," Liza said, then she shined a smile at Rob. "Hey, Rob. That was quick."

Liza's smile died, however, when she looked beyond Rob and saw the people watching at a distance. Angela had never seen Liza blanch like that. "What's wrong?"

"Probably nothing, darlin'. I just need to have a quick word with you and Art."

Liza's face relaxed some, but she wasn't satisfied with that answer. She turned her gaze to Angela, pleading. "Angie, what's going on?"

Angela lost her last bit of resolve to stay out of Rob's way. She would hear about this later, she knew, but Liza was scared. "Everything's fine, Liza," Angela said, walking to the porch. "Something happened downtown."

"Liza, I know this looks funny," Rob said. "But there was a little problem at the river earlier today, and I need to talk to Art. He might have seen something."

Liza took Angela's hand, squeezing hard, not letting go. Liza's eyes gazed hard at Rob, questioning, and she looked back out at the gathered onlookers. "That's why two sheriff's rigs and half the town are camped out in front of my house? I believe that."

"We should talk inside, Liza," Rob said quietly.

Liza gave Rob a thinly masked glare, then moved out of the doorway. "Okay, Rob, yeah, both of you can come on in. Art's upstairs watching the news, like I told you on the phone. He just got back from fishing, him and Glenn and Tommy Michaelsen."

"Angie has to stay put, Liza. This is private."

Liza's eyes sparked. "Last I checked, this was stillmy house."

"All right," Rob said, giving in. He knew it was best not to rile Liza; as Angela remembered it, when he and Liza had dated their junior year, he'd riled her a lot. Rob pressed his hand against Angela's back, guiding her into the house. He closed the door behind them. The foyer felt steamy, scented with tomato sauce and garlic from cooking food. "Where's Glenn now?"

"Art said he wanted a nap. He's in his room."

"Have you talked to Glenn since he's been back?"

"Well, no, Rob," Liza said, annoyed. "I've been in the kitchen. They came in about fifteen minutes ago, and Glenn had tired himself out. Did Glenn...dosomething?"

Art appeared above them on the stairs to the left of the foyer, tucking a plaid shirt into his blue jeans. "Well, hey, Rob. Angie. What's going on?"

"Rob is here asking about Glenn," Liza told him.

"Glenn?" The joviality left Art's face. "Something we can help you with?"

"I'd just like to talk to him, if that's all right. There was a problem out at the river, and we think he might have some information for us."

"h.e.l.l, Rob, I was just out there with him not a half hour ago," Art said. "We were fishing. I'm sure Glenn didn't see anything I didn't see. He couldn't have. What's going on? There's something you're not saying." There was a coa.r.s.eness to Art's voice. His feelings were hurt.

"Art, I'm sorry, but I have to ask you to take me to see Glenn. Once I've talked to him, I'll explain everything. It's a whopper of a story, and it's worth the wait. I promise."

"Rob Graybold, this is some twisted kind of joke, right?" Liza said.

"No, Liza. It's not a joke, darlin'. Can you take me to Glenn's room?"

Liza and Art gave each other a look of mutual confoundment, then Liza joined her husband on the carpeted stairs. "Come on then, if you're coming," Liza said curtly, waving them up.

At the foot of the stairs, Rob nudged his index finger gently against Angela's collarbone. His whisper might as well have been a shout, from the look in his eyes. "You stay downstairs. If you don't, you'll go back outside. Say 'Yes, Rob, I understand.' "

"Sorry, Rob," she said quickly, embarra.s.sed.

Rob followed Art and Liza, keeping a careful distance behind them on the stairs. Angela watched their procession, suddenly uncomfortable being in their house. She didn't belong here. Whatever was going on with Art and Liza had nothing to do with her. The best thing would be to quietly go back outside, she thought. But she didn't. She stayed at the foot of the stairs, her palm wrapped tightly around the wooden globe crowning the bannister, waiting. She felt physically rooted in place, the way she had after the tree fell. And the tingling was there, too. The tingling hadn't stopped, this time.

An instant later, she knew why. Angela whiffed an odor so rank from above her that her nostrils stung. Her throat shut itself tight as her hand flew to her face to cover her nose. She stepped back. "Jesus, do you smell that?"

The three of them stopped to look around at her. Art and Liza had vacant faces, but Rob was coiled like a spring. "Smell what?" Rob said.

How could theynot smell it? It smelled like the slaughterhouses she drove past on Interstate 5 in northern California, a stew of cow feces and endless acres of crowded, doomed meat. The odor was so thick, Angela felt as if she were wading through a cattle pen, up to her ankles in rotting waste. She shook her head, and the smell weakened, but it was still there, drifting from the stairs. From very close to her. "You don't smell anything?" she said.

By the expressions on their faces, the answer was no.

"What do you smell?" Rob said.

"It's...something..."Dead, Angela wanted to say. Rotten. Liza looked exasperated, giving Angela a look that begged her not to complicate the visit. For her friend's sake, Angela faltered. "I don't know. I thought it was something, but..."

Rob sighed, giving up. He followed Art and Liza around the corner of the staircase, and all three of them vanished. At the foot of the stairs, Angela sniffed the air again. Her arms tingled painfully, as if they were irritated by the scent; absently, Angela scratched herself, crossing her arms. The smell was more faint now, but still putrid. What in the world could be up there?

And why couldn't the others smell it, too? It was impossiblenot to.

Angelawanted to follow Rob's instructions. He was already p.i.s.sed at her, and she didn't want to end up in real trouble. But despite that, her foot rose instinctively, and she rested her weight on the first step. As her shoe sank into the plush carpeting, the scent was sharper, closer. Angela took another step. Once again, a stronger version of the smell waited for her. Her stomach quivered. Fetid filth. Stinking dead flesh.Inside Liza's house?