Not One of Us(60)

“To me, the mob theory is far fetched,” Oliver admitted. “If it had just been Louis Cormier, then yeah, I’d buy it. But the mother and teenage kid? A hit man would have planned a killing so well there would be no need to cover accidental witnesses.”

“So it might have been the work of an amateur who screwed up and then had to kill the others to cover up his mistake?”

“If I had to guess, then yes, I’d say so. Look, Tegan. Don’t get your hopes up about solving the Cormier case. We’ll do our best, but the crime’s so old it’s likely we’ll never discover the identity of the killer or killers.”

I said nothing, gazing out the window at the thick tangle of woods on either side of the road. Bayou Enigma was well named—ancient and full of secrets and mysteries. I wondered what stories the old oaks, black-crowned night herons, and stagnant waters teeming with alligators might tell us if they could speak.





Chapter 22


JORI


It was too quiet. Way too quiet.

I stopped pulling clothes out of the washing machine and listened, waiting to hear voices or movement, but there was only the low drone of muted plum notes from the television in the den. My ears tingled with unease. I set the damp clothes on top of the washer and checked my cell phone: 4:12 p.m. Where had the time gone? I could have sworn it had only been ten minutes ago that I’d heard a vehicle in the driveway, then the opening and closing of the screen door and a low murmur of voices—Zach returning home from his day program.

But Zach always arrived home between 3:30 and 3:45 p.m. There should be sounds of life from the den or kitchen. Quickly, I stuffed the last load of laundry in the dryer. I’d been pondering the Cormier and Strickland murders as I’d cleaned, absorbed in reviewing everything I knew about the cases. Mimi had promised she’d take care of Zach when he got home, and so I’d allowed myself to focus on the murders instead of caretaking. I should have known better.

Before heading down the hallway, I did a quick check of the bathroom—unoccupied—and then Mimi’s and Zach’s bedrooms. Both were empty, the perfectly made beds a disturbing omen.

In the den, I found Mimi sound asleep on the sofa, her afternoon show unwatched. Should have known better than to trust her to take care of Zach. A bolt of resentment flashed through my mind that I quickly stifled. Mimi was old and ailing. She and Zach were my responsibility now.

I headed to the kitchen, figuring Zach had fixed his own afternoon snack and would be happily sitting at the table scarfing down his usual treat of peanut butter sandwiches and mint chocolate chip ice cream. But the table was empty and its surface bare and spotless. A quick glance around and I saw no pickle jar, ice cream carton, or breadcrumbs on the counters either.

A knot formed in my stomach, and I returned to the den.

“Mimi! Wake up. Where’s Zach?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she slowly rose on one elbow. “Zach?” she repeated blankly, before lowering her legs to the floor. “He must not be home yet. What time is it?”

“It’s after four.” I glanced out the front window. No Zach.

Mimi flung off the afghan and stood on wobbly legs. Her eyes were wild with a panic that reflected my own rising concern. “Check the garden,” she commanded in a shaky voice.

I ran out the side door, my heart racing. Surely he’s out there, I thought, trying to tamp down my fear. Zach often enjoyed going outside with Mimi while she tended to the newly sprouted vegetables. But as I rounded the house, only the raw, upturned earth greeted me.

A lone crow swooped in to feast on unsprouted seeds. No doubt the rest of the murder would join in shortly. Mimi would not be happy with that. In the past, she’d tried to scare them away with tin pie plates strung on a line and crude homemade scarecrows, but the crows were too damn smart to be fooled. Thank goodness I’d insisted she get rid of her old BB gun. It wasn’t safe with Zach around. He had no sense of danger when it came to moving vehicles or anything lying around the house.

I pressed my hands to my cheeks to ground myself in the present. I was losing it with these random, irrelevant thoughts. I had to focus. Where was my brother?

“Zach!” I screamed and screamed his name until my throat was raw. Even then I didn’t stop calling him. “Zach! Where are you? Time to come inside.”

My voice died in the gulf breeze, swallowed up in the heavy, humid air. This couldn’t be real. Any minute, Zach would stroll out of the woods, puzzled at my frantic cries. I swallowed hard. Think like Zach. Where would he go?

“Jori.”

I whirled around. Mimi stumbled toward me in her house slippers, her silver hair loose and fluttering in the wind. “Check the tree house,” she panted, practically out of breath from running.

Of course. The relief turned my legs to jelly, and I took a deep breath. He’d be there. He had to be. He used to play in it for hours as a kid. My relief was short lived, though, as I remembered it was half-rotten now. It would never hold up the weight of an adult.

Mimi’s chest heaved up and down, and I feared the panic and exertion might do her in. I couldn’t deal with yet another crisis on my hands. “Go back inside and call his day program,” I said, fighting to keep my voice calm. “Maybe there was a problem and he’s still there. We’ll find him. I promise.”

Without waiting to see if she obeyed, I rushed to the opposite side of our property. The tree house Uncle Buddy had built for Zach years ago stood on the edge of the woods. He’d spent every free hour in the tree house as a child, dragging along his LEGOs and toy metal cars with him. I should have insisted the thing be torn down long ago. I raced out to the abandoned structure, my heart sinking at the sight of old pieces of lumber that had fallen to the ground and missing planks on the floorboard that left gaping, dangerous openings.