214 Palmer Street(58)
Gavin folded his arms. “You’re wrong.”
Such a Gavin answer. There was nothing he loved better than knowing he had something on Kirk. Truthfully, as adults they had nothing in common. Kirk knew their friendship would have run its course a long time ago if not for the shared history of what happened that night in the bomb shelter. On occasion he’d thought of distancing himself from Gavin, but reminders of the past always pulled him right back. They were friends because he couldn’t afford not to be Gavin’s friend. Alienated, who knew what Gavin might do or say? One fateful night had changed everything, the repercussions hanging over his head forever.
It had started so innocently. Just a group of friends spending time together in what they’d thought was the coolest hangout in town. Kirk’s mom, Judy, had supplied them with a blanket and a cache of food, plastic containers of snacks and cans of soda, which they kept on the shelves stretched against the back wall. The guys had supplemented those supplies with other necessities. Clarice brought a battery-powered lantern. “It’s for camping,” she’d said, pulling a face. “But my family never goes camping.” Kirk had brought his Risk game from the house. Jeremy had a notebook for jotting down their ideas for movie scripts. And Gavin brought weed and liquor, which they hid in a box under the cot.
That day Kirk had brought his dad’s machete, just to show the guys. Gavin called him a show-off, but Kirk could tell he was impressed. Jeremy held it and turned it from side to side, watching the glint as the light caught the metal. “Cool!” he’d said. Jeremy could always be counted on for a show of enthusiasm.
Kirk had said, “Made of Damascus steel.” They all admired it, while Kirk described how his dad had bought it from a collector. “It’s one of kind. The guy didn’t want to part with it, but eventually my dad wore him down.” After they’d all had a good look, he set it on the lower shelf, blade inward, to keep it safe. A hundred times, no, a thousand times since then, he’d asked himself why he didn’t take it back into the house.
And now Gavin was yanking his chain, telling him that Sarah was there, digging up what they’d buried so long ago? Impossible. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but it wasn’t my wife digging up my old backyard.”
“You don’t believe me? See for yourself.”
“I think I will.”
Kirk got out of the car first and headed into the woods, not waiting for Gavin. He heard footsteps behind him and knew Gavin was close to catching up when he saw the beam of light from a flashlight, pointing the way ahead.
Gavin called out, “Slow down or you’ll trip on something and break a leg.”
Kirk paused and looked back. “She better be there.”
“I’m telling you, she is.”
Kirk kept going, pushing branches aside, leading the way. A symphony of crickets chirped all around them, while off in the distance an owl hooted. On the ground, there was only the sound of their footsteps. When they saw the residential light through the trees, Kirk upped his pace, forcing Gavin to break into a jog. Again, he called out, saying, “Wait up, Aden.” Not that it did any good. Kirk wasn’t going to stop until he saw what this was all about. Gavin may have started this, but Kirk was going to finish it.
When they got to the place where the park ended and the property began, Kirk finally came to a halt and surveyed the piles of dirt. “What the hell happened here?”
Gavin came up next to him, clicked off the light and stuck it in his pocket. “What do you think?”
“Are you telling me Sarah did all this?”
Gavin pointed to the bomb shelter doors, which were wide open now. “She did at least some of it. I think she’s down there now.” He pointed, then swatted at an insect buzzing close to his ear. “Why don’t you take a look?”
Kirk stepped over dirt piles and strode over to the opening. “Sarah?” As he leaned in, he felt a shove from behind, strong enough it knocked him off his feet, and launched him down the stairs.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Sarah was starting up the steps when she saw her husband’s face peering down from above. “Sarah?” he said, an air of surprise in his voice. Before she could respond, he came hurtling toward her. They collided, and she fell to the ground, Kirk on top of her. The impact knocked the breath out of her and slammed her head onto the sand. They landed only a few feet from Clarice’s body.
Before either of them could move, Gavin came trotting down the steps, whistling, his flashlight nearly blinding her. When he got to the bottom, he tucked the flashlight in his front pocket, the light aiming upward.
Kirk rolled off of her and asked, “Are you okay?” and when she nodded yes, he picked up his glasses and set them back on his nose before helping her to her feet. He turned to Gavin. “You need to explain what the hell is going on. Right now.”
When Gavin raised the gun and pointed it at Kirk, a cold shiver ran down her spine. The truth came to her all at once. Gavin was the one with the machete made of Damascus steel. His father was the chief of police when Jeremy went missing. He was the one who’d killed Clarice. And he was probably the one who’d murdered Jeremy.
And now he had a gun aimed toward her and Kirk.
Gavin’s voice was cold. “You always were slow on the uptake, Aden.”