Stranger in the Lake(56)
“Hello to you, too. You look like hell, by the way.” Even from here, parked a good fifteen feet away, I can see he looks exhausted, the lines around his eyes and mouth deeper than just yesterday. His scruff is two days old, maybe three. I close my door, and the clap echoes across the water. “Have you been getting any sleep?”
“Do catnaps at my desk count?”
So no, then. Not sleeping.
I slide my hands into my back pockets, stepping right up to Sam, staring up at him. It feels strange to be standing near enough to see the amber flecks in his eyes, the scar from a long-ago biking accident that slices his brow. The last time I was this close, I planted two hands on his chest and shoved, hard enough he fell backward over a chair. He looks skinnier, too.
“What about food? And before you crack some joke, I don’t mean coffee and sugar doughnuts. I’m talking about real food. Something with vitamins and protein.”
I used to fuss at him like this all the time, egging him on to eat better, to dress nicer and study harder, and he used to roll his eyes and tell me he already had a mom and didn’t need another. Subconsciously, at least, there must be a reason I’m doing it now, trying to shoot us back to that place when we were on better terms. A kind of apology, maybe, or because I miss his friendship. All I know is that it feels good to be doing it again.
He checks his watch. “Do you mind if we hurry this along? It’s pretty much all hands on deck down at the station, and I need to be getting back. Why did you want to meet?”
“I saw Jax.”
And just like that, his impatience drops to the gravel beneath us, replaced with something sharp and intense. “When? Where?”
“On my back deck.” A tiny stab of guilt spears me between the ribs, but I manage to hold Sam’s gaze. “And two nights ago.”
“You’re freaking kidding me, right?” He shakes his head, looks away in disgust. “I was at your house just yesterday. You looked into my face and you didn’t say a goddamn word.” He flicks his gaze to Chet. “Did you know about this?”
Chet stuffs his hands in his coat pockets, turning his back to the wind. “Dude. You know as well as I do there ain’t nobody on this planet can tell Charlie what to do. Least of all me.”
Sam reaches for his phone, sliding it out of his pocket. “You know that cops in five counties are looking for him, right? You know he’s wanted on suspicion of murder.”
“I do now.”
“Jesus, Charlie. When a suspect is seen on your back deck, you tell the cops. I shouldn’t have to tell you this. Did you talk to him?”
Unlike Sam, I remain calm. I recount my conversation with Jax, word for word. His not-so-subtle implication linking two bodies to Paul. The weird way he peered through the trees to Micah’s. And just like Jax did, I save the best part for last.
“Watch your back? He said for you to watch your back? And you still didn’t tell me?”
“Jax shouts poetry at the tourists and presses his face to the shop windows, puffing up his cheeks like a blowfish. I thought he was an innocent kook. I thought it was a warning, not a threat. So, you can quit with the reprimands or we’re leaving.” I pause, just long enough to let him suck back down whatever he was about to say. “Though while I’m here, I might as well tell you the boat got loose this morning. Chet says the seats were slashed and the ropes sliced clean through. You can’t help but wonder.”
I leave it at that, with wonder. It’s as much as he’s getting from me. We both know what I meant by it.
Sam shakes his head, incredulous. “You really do have a death wish, don’t you?”
“Oh, stop. I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” I pause, chewing on a lip. “This also seems like as good a time as any to tell you I’m pregnant.”
“Congratulations.” He says it with so much disgust, I actually flinch. “You don’t need that man to help you raise a baby, you know. The Charlie I used to know didn’t need anybody. She could do pretty much anything on her own.”
“Everything but get herself pregnant.” My wisecrack lands like a belly flop, and Sam looks away. “Come on, Sam. You know this baby was made out of love.”
“That may be so, but Paul is still a murder suspect. Billy Barnes didn’t see him on Wednesday morning.”
Billy Barnes. The man Paul claimed to have passed on his early-morning run. The alibi isn’t holding up. The revelation is like getting punched; I’m breathless from the shock. My gaze pulls to Sam, his face set in hard lines as he watches it all sink in.
“Did you plant that Kingsport reporter?” I say, suddenly livid. “Did you get her to start that rumor?”
Sam doesn’t seem the least bit offended at the accusation. “Here’s what you don’t get, what you’ve never gotten—that I’m not the only one with suspicions. In fact, I’d be willing to wager that most people with a functioning brain are seeing the same thing I’m seeing—a man who stood to gain more money than he could ever make in one lifetime with his rich wife gone. Sure, okay, I’ll admit he got away with it the first time, but two female bodies under the same dock? That’s too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence.”
“You just told me you were looking at Jax for Sienna’s murder.”