Better left buried, p.8
Better Left Buried, page 8
“Out of custody,” Katy says shortly. “I’ll answer your questions on the way, okay? Blake and Veronica cannot find you here. Especially here. For fuck’s sake.”
“Why?” I ask. “Maybe if you would answer that, I wouldn’t have to sneak back in here for answers.”
“And maybe if I didn’t have to rescue your asses from this place,” Katy snaps, “I would have time to answer.”
This time, Katy doesn’t lead us into the passageways. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t trust Audrey, or maybe it’s because she’s in too much of a hurry. Either way, she rushes us down the stairs, back past the in-home movie theater, and out the back door toward her Jeep.
“How did you get back in?” I ask as Katy slams the Jeep door and starts the engine.
“I told you,” Katy says. “I’m helping Cliff with the investigation now.” Her voice softens, goes distant. “Apparently—apparently Pierce put it in his will. Asked me to come home if he died. Asked me to be part of the investigation. As if he knew there would be one.”
Her voice is strange and stilted.
I’m not sure actually if I’ve ever heard her say the word home before.
“What’s your excuse for leaving now?” Audrey pipes up from the back seat. “What did you tell them?”
“They’re in the living room with Cliff,” Mom answers when we pass the gates. She accelerates fast, so fast my head thumps back against the headrest. “I said I had to check on you. I was pretty vague.”
“And Blake and Veronica didn’t mention that they had seen me?”
“Blake and Veronica saw you?”
“Um,” I say. “Yeah? They…They found me in the woods while we were trying to sneak in?”
“You.” Katy’s voice ices over. “Are grounded until you’re at least thirty.”
It’s usually an empty promise—Katy has a tendency to ground me and then immediately forget—but this time she sounds so deadly certain I do go quiet.
“It is weird that they didn’t mention it,” Audrey says, as if Katy’s anger doesn’t frighten her at all. “Did Gus tell you anything when he came to get you?”
Katy’s knuckles are white where her hands are clenching the steering wheel, her jaw set as she shakes her head. “Maybe they thought I already knew you were walking around the woods unsupervised,” she says finally.
“Or maybe they’re just a weird, creepy fucking family,” Audrey says, leaning back in her seat as if that settles the matter. “So you’re helping the cops, huh? Helping Cliff?”
Katy is silent.
“You know what the cops here are like,” Audrey continues. She slides her sunglasses on. “Hey, you can drop me off. My bike is here.”
“I’ll drop you off with your mom,” Katy says. “And not before. You can let Langley decide if you get that bike back.”
Audrey kicks the back of the seat. “You’re kidnapping me?”
“Your mom specifically said to bring you to her.” She takes one hand off the wheel and unlocks her phone, holding it up for us both to see.
The contact is just named L, and it’s one text message that reads, This yours? And a picture of Audrey glaring at Katy across Pierce Anselm’s office.
There’s a text from Audrey’s mom beneath it. Yeah. Meet in 15?
That makes less sense. Were they friends once? Are they friends now? Is Katy investigating her or working with her?
Katy drives the long, winding road from the mansion to downtown Haeter Lake, where the houses are close enough together that trees don’t block them from seeing each other, though there seem to be more potholes on this road than open businesses.
“Why did they put the murder motel out in the forest instead of the middle of town?” I ask Katy curiously when the silence stretches out for a few minutes too long.
“Can you please stop calling it the murder motel?” Katy asks wearily as she pulls up in front of a small, low building a few blocks down from the diner. “It’s a lovely establishment that was built there by one of the oldest families in Haeter Lake. And it’s absolutely safe.”
“A lovely establishment?” I interrupt. “You can’t possibly be talking about anything in Haeter Lake.”
She sighs deeply as she parks in front of an old building that resembles a schoolhouse.
I push open the door to the Jeep and hop down. “Besides. It’s a motel in a small Appalachian town. In the middle of the very creepy forest. Of course it’s a murder motel. I can’t believe you don’t see that. And does that ‘oldest family’ happen to be our very own Anselm family?”
Katy exits the Jeep, raising a perfectly threaded eyebrow at me. “No. The Anselms do not own the motel. You only think it’s a creepy forest because you don’t go outside enough,” she tells me. “And because you watch too many horror movies.”
“Maybe you don’t watch enough horror movies,” I retort as she hesitates on the curb beside me.
Katy says, “Say goodbye to your new friend, and then I’m dropping you off here, Lucille.”
Audrey’s eyes spark with humor, and she mouths Lucille at me.
That might be worse than Sundress.
Not that a nickname coming from Audrey is the worst thing, after all.
Anyway.
“Here? Not back at the motel?” I ask with a sigh.
“No, you have questions, and the library will—” Her face twists suddenly, pain flashing in her eyes. “The library will have some answers for you. Okay? And I’m sure Audrey’s mom will want to keep her home after all this anyway.”
And for the first time, I realize that maybe Katy hasn’t been trying to keep me out, keep me away from her, keep me at arm’s length. Maybe whatever it is that ties Katy to this town is so painful that she’s never quite known how to say it.
Maybe whatever brought her back here hurts so deep she can’t say it out loud.
“Okay,” I say, shooting a glance at Audrey. “Audrey? See you soon?”
Audrey nods, and then Katy pulls me away from the car. “You,” she hisses into my ear, “need to be much more careful. That Anselm boy didn’t sell you out today, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. Do you understand me? And Langley Nelson’s kid has no loyalty to you either. Don’t let them fool you. Either of them.”
My head snaps up in shock. “Katy?”
“I know this family better than you do,” she says carefully. “And I know Audrey’s mom, and I know what happened to her dad. So just—believe me. Stay away from the Anselms, those two women, their kid, and god forbid you run into Curtis.”
I tilt my head and look up at her. “Katy? What’s wrong with Curtis?”
Katy barks out a laugh, her eyes distant. “What isn’t wrong with the golden boy?” she says, shaking her head. “He’s kind and charismatic and funny until he’s not. He’s smart and pretty and good until he’s not. Pierce bailed him out for years, and when he finally set a boundary with Curtis, that man said Pierce owed him his inheritance and more.”
“Was he—violent?” I ask it in a small voice because I want her to reassure me like I’m a little kid. I want to hear that it’s fine, that what happened to Pierce was all a sad accident.
“Yes,” Katy says without missing a beat. “But I suppose they all are, in their own way. Violent and charming and rich, and you need to stay away.”
“Is he a suspect?” I blurt with all the subtlety of a freight train. “Because it sounds like nobody in his family trusts him.”
“No,” Katy says sharply. “I told you. You’re not investigating. You’re not hunting suspects. You can learn more about our family—Arthur can help you with that—but stay away from the Anselms. Trust me on this.”
How can I trust you? I want to yell. How can I trust you when I don’t even know you?
But as ever, Katy does not wait to see if I need anything, or if I have questions, or if I’m okay. She turns on her heel and stalks back to the car, looking over her shoulder at me before she gets in. “And stay here,” she says sharply. “Until I come get you.”
And then she is gone, leaving me alone once again.
After Lucy’s mom drops her off at the library, she drives back out of town, taking the dirt road toward the motel.
“Where are you taking me?” I grab for the door handle, opening it even though we’re on the road going out of town.
“Jesus,” Katy says. “Jesus, don’t jump out. Your mom asked me to take the long way home.”
I text Mom, because no way am I trusting anyone who works for the cops, for fuck’s sake.
Where are you?
At home, Mom texts back a moment later. You still with Katy?
Yeah. Coming now.
I sit back in my seat, forcing my breath to even as I shut the door again.
Katy shakes her head in annoyance. “Forgot for a moment that you were Langley Nelson’s kid, I guess,” she says. “Of course you were about to jump out of a moving car. That tracks.”
“You don’t know me.”
“No,” she says. “But I know where you come from.”
Lots of people have said that with a sneer, and they’re usually referring to the trailer, to the WIC cards and the food stamps and the beater cars.
But Katy says it with something like respect in her voice. Says it like she’s talking about my mom.
“Were you two friends?” I ask her, as if I haven’t heard every detail Mom ever had to tell about their days growing up together, the good and the bad.
Katy shoots a look at me. “She never mentioned me?”
“No,” I lie.
“I guess not, then,” Katy says.
We pull up in front of the trailer a few minutes later.
Mom is waiting in front of our place. She’s still wearing her scrubs and those too-clean runners, her arms folded across her chest. The wind is tugging at her dark brown hair, pulling it from its loose ponytail.
She tugs me into a tight hug even as she lights into me, saying something about damn reckless and didn’t listen to a word I said and can’t believe you went straight to the mansion and grounded until the day you die, but she keeps on hugging me.
“Can we talk?” Lucy’s mom asks her.
I can feel Mom glaring at her even if I can’t see it. “Let me hold my baby, Preston,” she says coolly. “I just got out of jail, in case you’d forgotten.”
Katy snorts. “You weren’t arrested,” she says. “No one forced you to go.”
“Why are we out here?” I look up at Mom. “What did Cliff say? Did you give him your alibi? You were home all night. They don’t have anything on you. They can’t.”
Mom strokes my hair back, one arm still tight around me. “They wanted to know my whereabouts last night,” she says. “And Cliff had a few questions about some things I said to the Anselm family in the past. But we don’t have anything to worry about, honey. We’re gonna be okay.”
She looks down at me, her eyes both fierce and affectionate.
This is the safest place I know, right here with Mom, because even when shit is bad, even when shit is really bad, dead-dad-and-I’m-falling-apart bad, Mom is here.
But when she says that we’re gonna be okay, I don’t know if I believe her.
Because she’s looking at me like she’s gonna make sure I am okay. But not her. Maybe not her.
“Mom,” I rasp. “Mom, we didn’t do anything to him.”
“No, baby,” she says. “Of course we didn’t.”
“You can’t be the only suspect,” I say, tucking my head against her shoulder. If anyone in Haeter Lake saw me like this now, cuddled up like a little kid, I’d probably have to get in a fight with them about it. But it’s just me and Mom here now, so if I’m comfortable tucked against her shoulder, nobody needs to know.
“In Haeter Lake?” Bitterness threads Mom’s voice. “There’s a house full of Anselms with motives—and god knows Curtis swung at the old man enough times that the police should be talking to him first. But of course I’m the one they’re looking at.”
“It’s not fair.” My own voice echoes Mom’s bitterness. “It never has been.”
She nods. “Listen, I need to talk to Katy, okay? And I need you not to talk about this with anyone. Not even your new friend.” She smiles slightly when she says friend, and my cheeks warm.
I push back, take a small step away from her. “Can you drive me back to my motorcycle?” I ask the gravel road, because if I look up at her, I’ll see that stern look and disappointment and fierceness, and I can’t handle any of that right now.
“We’ll talk about that, young lady,” she says. “Katy. Let’s step over here.”
She walks away with Katy, and I lean on Mom’s Honda Civic and watch them.
They look like they’re arguing, though their voices remain hushed whispers.
Finally, Katy steps back from my mom. “Just keep your kid away from it, okay?” she says, loud enough for me to hear.
Mom’s eyes go dark. “You don’t get to tell me how to parent, you hear me?” She jabs a finger against Katy’s chest. “You don’t get to tell me anything.”
“I got you out of jail,” Katy snaps.
Mom is already stalking back toward me. “Get in the car,” she says.
“Can we get—”
“Get in.”
Mom doesn’t say anything about her meeting with Katy, about her time being questioned by the freaking cops. Doesn’t say anything at all until she helps me haul my motorcycle out of the trees where I’d hidden it near the Anselms’.
She levels a gaze at me across the handlebars as I straddle it.
“Two things,” Mom says, and then holds up one finger. “One, Katy Preston’s daughter might be sweet and charming, but that family has always been too close to the Anselms to be worth trusting. Understood?”
I nod, and she holds up a second finger.
“And two, if you ever pull shit like this again,” she continues softly, “I will haul this bike to the junkyard myself. Are we clear?”
I swallow hard. Nod once. “Yeah,” I mutter. “Yeah, we’re clear.”
When Mom leaves me in front of the library, I hold the phone up above my head, begging the cell phone service gods that the one bar will be enough. Meet tonight at the motel, I text Audrey.
She leaves me on read.
I jot down ideas in my notepad: library, local newspaper, diner.
The three best sources of information, no matter what town you find yourself in. That’s what my dad always says, but he might be biased because he’s a journalist.
Back when we all used to travel with Katy for cases, Dad and I would always introduce ourselves at the local paper. He worked for CNN at the time, and when he introduced himself, reporters would recognize him and would fall over themselves trying to introduce themselves first.
Dad wasn’t in it for the celebrity feeling, though. He just genuinely loved it, meeting other journalists, hearing the stories that were most important to them and their small towns.
The library Katy left me in front of is a small two-room building with a sign outside that reads, LISTED ON THE NATIONAL REGISTER OF HISTORIC PLACES. Well, lovely for them. I push open the door and enter. The room smells like old books, and I inhale deeply.
For once, Katy was right. This is exactly where I want to be.
An older man is seated behind the desk, nodding off over a book. He startles when the door shuts behind me and then smiles. “Katy,” he says. “Is that you? I’ve got just the thing.” He stands slowly, and I can almost hear joints creaking as he straightens. “The next Poirot finally shipped, just for you. It should be here—”
“Um,” I interrupt him. “I’m actually Katy’s daughter?”
He shakes his head, as if clearing cobwebs, and then his warm smile returns, his wrinkled face kind. “Of course, of course,” he says. “My, I do get confused, especially after my afternoon nap. I didn’t know Katy had a daughter! Spitting image of her, you are.”
“Thank you?” I say. “I’m actually, uh, here to do some research.”
“Of course you are,” he says, clapping his weathered hands once as if the idea of research delights him. “About what, my dear?”
“The Anselm family,” I tell him boldly. “And my mom’s connection.”
He tilts his head to the side, his eyebrows furrowing.
“I’m Lucy, by the way,” I tack on. “My mom—Katy—is investigating the…the case.”
“Ah,” he says. “Well, are you looking for a book or would you like to look in our periodical section? We have copies of the Daily going all the way back to…well, before your mom, even.” He grins at me, and I relax. Whoever this librarian is, he has been here since Mom was…well, a kid. Here. In this town where she left all her secrets. “I’m Arthur. Arthur Joyce. Been the librarian here in Haeter Lake for sixty years, and I don’t plan on stopping,” he says gently. “Are you looking for the articles on the accident, too?”
I return his smile hesitantly. “On Mr. Nelson’s accident?” I ask.
“Well, sure,” he says. “But I thought you might be interested in your granddad’s, too.”
My blood runs cold. “My—my granddad?”
Because this is it. Finally.
Finally.
Arthur shuffles out from behind the desk at the far end of the room. “We keep them all back here,” he says. “It seems like such a difficult thing for someone so young to read about, but your mom was just like that. She’d spend every afternoon in high school poring over all of these. I used to ask her if she was writing a book on the case. Ah. Yes. Here it is.”
He has flipped toward the back of some newspapers sheathed in plastic. He taps a gnarled finger on top of the page. “This is the first one after he passed,” he says. “A good man, your granddad. Used to go fishing with him in Haeter Lake, back when it used to be a lake.”
I stare at him, confused, but he just laughs.
I remember that flash of pain in Mom’s face when she dropped me off here, the feeling that all those secrets she kept from me were just painful. I can feel the ache of it in my chest now, pain I’ve inherited even if I don’t know how or why.
