Stranger in the Lake(61)
“And I know you know where we lived at the time.”
Another nod. In a pimped-out trailer on the ugly side of the lake, smack in the middle of what’s now the parking lot for a frozen yogurt shop. That’s how I know Miss Jamie, because she moved into Bobby’s trailer shortly after he disappeared. Chet and I lived four doors down.
“Then you know why the cops didn’t much care when he disappeared. What’s one less piece of trailer-park trash to them? Especially one who wasn’t exactly operating on the right side of the law. Those ghost shows always make him out to be an idiot, but that ain’t right. My Bobby had brains. He had street smarts.” She taps a finger to her temple. “A genius IQ. Whatever charges the cops flung at him never stuck.”
“What about the rumor Bobby was chased out of town by another drug dealer? That had to have come from somewhere.”
“Yeah, from mean ole Chief Hunt, though he was Officer Hunt at the time. That man always had it out for Bobby. Whooping his siren at him in town. Doing drive-bys during peak business hours. Showing up here, hauling him out of bed just to rattle his cage. Chief’s the one who planted that story in people’s ears, you know, so he didn’t have to explain why he wasn’t actually doing anything to find Bobby. For a while there, I suspected Chief of doing it himself. I thought he was the one who made Bobby disappear.”
I can see why. Chief Hunt climbed the law enforcement ladder because of two things: the status that came with his wife’s wealth, and the strong-armed way he went about cleaning up Lake Crosby’s streets. He closed up all the meth labs, tossed the drug lords in jail. He patrolled the streets, pulled over anybody who even looked like they were thinking about a drink. People joke about having to drive all the way to Sapphire for some decent weed, but it’s the truth—and all thanks to Chief Hunt’s iron fist.
“Sienna suggested there were some new details in the case,” I say.
Jamie frowns. “What kind of new details?”
“That she didn’t say. But apparently she was planning to reveal them in a podcast. Have you heard anything about it from the police?”
“What, you think Chief Hunt’s coming over here to fill me in? That jackass don’t tell me jack. When those divers found Bobby, I learned it from the news. The news, Charlie. Chief didn’t even have the decency to come over here and tell me himself. It’s like he’s forgotten I even exist.”
Talk of Bobby has worked her up something good, turned her wheezing into something that pulses worry in my chest. I look around for a landline in case we need to call for an ambulance, wondering if the cell tucked in the pocket of my bag will do me any good on this side of the mountain, where service is spotty at best. I glance at Chet, and he looks worried, too.
I scoot to the edge of the couch. “Things are about to get ugly, Miss Jamie. I don’t know how much of it will be true and how much of it is gossip, but I remember what it did to you last time around. You stay strong, and call me anytime you need to talk, or if somebody shows up here looking to take advantage. I’ll send Chet here over to chase ’em off.”
He nods. “Gladly. And I’ll bring you some of that seven-layer dip you like so much, too.”
She pitches back in her recliner, tilting herself almost horizontal, looking up at us over her heaving belly. “You two turned out a whole lot nicer than your mama did. Anybody ever tell y’all that?”
“Only once or twice.” Chet grins, pausing to pat her ankle. “You take care of yourself, Miss Jamie. I’ll see you next week.”
I’m at the door when my curiosity gets the better of me. “Miss Jamie, who does your landscaping?”
“Huh?” Her head lolls my way, her eyes at half-mast. She waves a hand through the air, but it’s sloppy. She’s losing steam fast. “Oh, hell if I know. They come through here with their blowers and their weed whackers, and then they’re gone. Never ask me for a penny.”
I smile. “Do you have a sugar daddy on the sly?”
Another phlegmy laugh. “Not hardly.” She pats the tank next to her like a favorite pet, her fingers resting on the knob. “I keep waiting for Amazon to figure out they’ve got the wrong address and take everything back, but they never do.”
“Sounds like you found yourself a guardian angel.”
She closes her eyes and sighs. “If you see him, tell him what I could really use is a new heart.”
As we file out the door, my hand goes instinctively to my stomach, and I’m struck with the thought of how fragile we all are, how vulnerable and temporary. How one moment we can think we have it all, a home and a family and good health, and the next—poof—it’s all gone.
27
Chet and I return home to a kitchen full of people—Paul and Diana and Micah and Chief Hunt, standing in a cluster by the island—and an air thick with sudden silence. The kind that comes after wrangling words and heated voices. The kind they stopped hurling around the second we walked through the door.
Paul turns, watching me with that beat-up brow and blackened eye, an angry kaleidoscope of black and purple and red. His expression sucks up all the air in the kitchen.
“What is it? What’s going on?”
I dump my bag and keys onto the counter and look around for clues, but there’s nothing but marble on the countertop between us, and in a house where visits revolve around topped-up glasses and trays overflowing with finger foods. But whatever this occasion is, Diana is dressed for it. Full makeup, silky top, leather motorcycle jacket over dark jeans, her hair slicked back into a high ponytail. She looks like a Charlie’s Angel, cougar edition.